Weekend Duty
by SA3466996
Summary: Tony went AWOL. Gibbs wants to make sure it never happens again. After ordering him to work the weekend, Gibbs finds out a little more about his senior field agent and Tony finds out just how big that second 'b' is. Sequel to The Onion. Tag to Boxed In.
1. Saturday, 05:45 EST

**Weekend Duty**

A/N - Tony went AWOL. Gibbs wants to make sure it never happens again. After ordering him to work the weekend shift, Gibbs finds out a little more about his senior field agent and Tony finds out just how big that second 'b' is. Sequel to _The Onion_. Tag to 'Boxed In'.

_Weekend Duty_ builds on the issues explored in _The Onion_ and _Word Salad_, which were tags to 'Boxed In'. This story attempts to explain the possible reasons for why Tony acted as he did in _The Onion._ There are quite a few dreams and flashbacks in this story, and although _Weekend Duty_ contains some case elements, it is not a case story. Contains brief references to 'Mind Games' and 'Caught on tape' and also picks up on a few things that Tony said in 'Boxed In'. Also addresses the issue of head slaps and could be read as a possible back story for the comment "You'll do" said by Gibbs to Tony in 'Hiatus'. **Warning** - contains some minor violence, mild/moderate language and references to abuse – hence rated T. NCIS characters belong to Bellisario, CBS and Paramount.

I also owe huge thanks to CSIGeekFan, Obsessed Pam and William for taking time out from their busy lives to beta this story.

Thanks also to Incinera for playing SA3 tag with me.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – Saturday, 05:45 EST**

_Sitting on the hard cold wooden floorboards of his room, he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and drew his knees up to his chest. No one should see him like this. No one could see him like this. Pain coursed through his body, a rhythmical throbbing that echoed the beat of his heart. His eyes were wet, his face hot. How the hell would he explain this tomorrow? _

_A noise outside in the hallway startled him. _

_What was that? Shutting his eyes tight and straining his ears, the fearful teen stayed deathly quiet, trying to make out any distinguishing sounds. He was getting good at that. Footsteps... heavy... a man's. As he tensed, the accompanying pain sent a wave of nausea throughout his system causing him to release an audible gasp. He could have kicked himself. Instead, he held his breath and waited. Slowly, the footsteps drew nearer... and stopped. They were outside his door now. He waited... and waited..._

_After what felt like an eternity, he heard a sigh from outside the door. Rather abruptly, he heard the originator turn and start to walk away. The footsteps were beginning to get lighter when he allowed himself to open his eyes, push the hood back from his head, and sneak a look at the gap underneath the door. _

_Big mistake._

_The footsteps returned, increasing in weight and pace with every step. The hurried treads were quickly followed by an expletive as a glass smashed on the floor outside his room. The door flew open and there was a moment when he thought he hadn't been seen but he knew it would be short-lived. Then he saw it. Not obvious at first glance, especially when set against the alcohol glazed tinge, but there nonetheless... the look of utter disappointment in the hazel eyes that stared back at him from across the room. _

_The stench of alcohol intensified as the hazel eyes approached. _

_Trapped; there was nothing he could do but wait for his vision to turn grey, fade and allow himself to sink into oblivion. _

Tony bolted upright, beads of sweat scattering in all directions from his brow. Breathing hard, he pushed the covers away and wiped his forehead, finally resting his hand over his mouth and chin.

_Not again. Not today. Just not today._

After a minute he began to breathe easier, relaxing his tightly tensed muscles and swung his head to glance at the clock on his bedside table.

_Oh Crap!_

Sleeping through his alarm, on the first day of his 'weekend duty' with Gibbs, was not going to go down well. He'd have to forego his morning run if he was going to make it on time. Oh how he'd been looking forward to this weekend. Tensing again, Tony mentally kicked himself into gear. There was no way he could be late today.

_Get a move on Anthony!_

Any lingering memories from his earlier 'encounter' vanished, pushed back into the neat, and now safely secured, compartment buried deep in his mind. Tony took a quick shower, dressed in the suit he reserved for occasions when he felt the need to hide behind an extra protective layer, holstered and locked his sig and stumbled into the kitchen.

_Now where was it?_ Tony spied the pizza box. "Ah ha... thought you'd got away from me didn't you?"

He flipped the lid to the pizza box precariously balanced on the edge of the counter. Gravity intervened, and the now stone cold remaining slices of a hot and spicy pepperoni pizza with extra cheese slid out of the box, to fall face down onto the kitchen floor. Tony watched in silent resignation as the box tumbled, almost in slow motion, to join its previous contents just a few inches away.

_Damn. _

There was no way he'd have time to clear it up and get to work without being late. Leaving several streaks of tomato topping and mozzarella cheese on the kitchen floor, Tony picked up the pieces, threw them in the box and then wedged the oversized, square container in the trash bin in the corner of the kitchen. The box stuck out at an odd angle, mocking him. '_When you get home this evening,' _it laughed,_ 'I'm going to be down there, on the floor and I'm gonna spill my guts again... just like you!'_

_Forget it. Leave it Anthony. Sort it out later._

Grabbing an apple from the glass bowl on the counter top - that would have to do in the circumstances - Tony made his way to the hallway. He picked up his coat and keys and headed out, slamming the front door behind him.

Two feet from his Mustang, still wrestling to get into his coat, apple gripped between his teeth, Tony suddenly realised he'd left his cell on his bedside table. He stopped struggling and sighed, which unfortunately was exactly the wrong thing to do as the apple that had been carefully positioned between clenched teeth worked its way loose at the sudden ease in pressure. Before Tony could think to react, it fell from his mouth, hit the tarmac and sent a shower of sticky juice in the direction of his suit pants.

_Great._

Tony resigned himself to the fact that this was going to be the start of things to come this weekend. As he picked up the apple that had rolled neatly behind the front wheel of his Mustang and headed back towards his apartment to collect his cell, he prayed the traffic would be on his side.

* * *

The squad room was empty. Well, technically, the MCRT section of the squad room was empty. There were other agents around. Special Agent Stephanie Cole, currently running the Middle East desk, had her head buried in threat assessment reports; sitting not far from her was Special Agent Daniel Wright on the European desk. There were also those who had passed through on route to MTAC or the conference rooms from other areas of the building.

She was there when the janitor had made an appearance around 04.30 and the mail had been delivered around 06.00, but since then it had been very quiet. She often dropped by the squad room. She liked to watch her friends as they worked a case; teased each other, and comforted each other. Not that they ever saw her; she could come and go as she pleased and no one saw her. There were times, though, when she wondered if they could sense her.

She surveyed the scene in the open plan office. The four main desks of the MCRT were empty. No Gibbs, no McGee, no DiNozzo and no David. It was a Saturday. Under normal circumstances the desks _should_ be empty. This weekend, however, half the team had been assigned the '_weekend duty'_, which meant that two of those desks would not remain empty for much longer.

_Gibbs, you really are a bastard and DiNozzo, you can be such an idiot..._

The elevator signalled its arrival with a familiar high pitched stab and threw open its arms to reveal a very determined Gibbs carrying a large box of files.

She hovered; watching as Gibbs strode purposefully into the squad room, deposited the heavy box of cold case files with a resounding thump on DiNozzo's desk, and checked his watch.

She watched as Agent Cole had looked up briefly from her papers and had bravely ventured a quick glance in Gibbs's direction. She watched as Gibbs had caught Agent Cole's eyes with a stare, and she observed silently as Cole had subsequently dropped her gaze immediately back to her threat assessments.

She watched and felt the tension as Gibbs, staring inwardly, walked back out of the squad room and headed once more for the elevator.

_Good luck DiNozzo, _was Kate's last thought before she vanished.

* * *

Tony locked the door of his Mustang, pocketed the keys and jogged towards the entrance to the NCIS building. He wasn't going to be late but it would be close.

It had actually been a good job he'd forgotten his cell. He'd realised he'd forgotten his back pack with all his usual gear and his extra shirts. He always kept a change of clothes at the office - had done ever since his rookie cop days - but he figured it'd probably be a late one tonight. Given the circumstances, he needed to be prepared for every eventuality... had to be extra prepared. No excuses. In fact, it wouldn't surprise him if Gibbs denied him permission to leave _at all_ this weekend. This was, after all, going to be a Leroy Jethro Gibbs lesson in following orders. Still, there was an upside to his 'house arrest' or 'detention' weekend. At least he wouldn't have to face that Pizza box for a while.

Waving his badge and mock saluting the new security guard as he entered the building, he wondered what had become of the old security guard. He made a mental note to ask Dave in DVU and headed for the elevator. Pressing the call button three times in quick succession, Tony fished at his side for his cell. _Just got time to send a quick text to Abs_.

As he had been unable to accept Abby's invitation to watch her, Sister Rosita and the nuns hopefully thrash their opponents in the bowling quarter finals later that evening, the least he could do was wish her luck. Not that she needed it mind you... according to Abby, winning was a foregone conclusion. He smiled at that. Abby was always right.

A couple of thumb movements later he pressed send and then resumed his wait for the elevator.

* * *

Gibbs had returned to his desk and had been steadily working through his e-mails, the important ones anyway. There had been no calls and nothing on the tip line which meant this was an ideal opportunity to catch up on paperwork... he would rephrase that... it was an ideal opportunity for _DiNozzo _to catch up on paperwork. Well, it _was_ supposed to be a punishment. And he was definitely going to treat it like one. DiNozzo wouldn't learn if he didn't. The guy needed to realise that going AWOL immediately after managing to get himself and his partner locked in a shipping container was not one of his better decisions, especially when the rest of the team had been run ragged trying to find the pair. However, Gibbs did have an alternative reason for insisting DiNozzo work the weekend shift. It would give him the chance to observe Tony without the others around – watch him perform his duties on his own and also see how he reacted _now_ to one on one time. The last time they'd worked together, just the two of them, had been just after Vivien Blackadder had 'reconsidered her position within the MCRT'. They'd worked as a two man team for just over three months before getting a few sporadic TADs, probationary agents and downright disasters over the course of the next six months.

None of them had lasted.

Then he'd met Kate Todd, a secret service agent. She hadn't lasted either. But that was different. And even though it wasn't _his_ finger that had pulled the trigger that fired the bullet that killed Kate, he still felt as though _he_ had been responsible. He was the reason she hadn't lasted. It had been personal. The rifle, the bullet, the background that Ziva, as Ari's handler, had pulled up on _him_ had been enough to equip Ari with the knowledge he had needed to rattle Gibbs, break through his tough external shell, expose his core, catch him off guard and... kill Kate.

It was a fine story... one he was adamant not to repeat.

DiNozzo had been caught off guard recently. He'd been rejected by his colleague and that had stirred some painful memories for Tony. Tony obviously thought of himself as a bad person and Gibbs wanted to know why. Tony was too good an agent to lose and he didn't want him failing his next psych evaluation. If the psych guys got a hold of something from Tony, they wouldn't let go until they were certain the agent couldn't be manipulated, couldn't be bought and, more importantly, wouldn't crack. Gibbs knew how hard it was to keep memories private, buried and compartmentalised. He had his own ways of coping with his pain, and he had to make sure Tony did too. Neither of them could afford to fail.

In the past 48 hours Gibbs had done some digging... and a bit of thinking. He'd reviewed Tony's personnel file... although he already knew it inside out. He'd concentrated on the personal information. DiNozzo came from a wealthy family. Tony's mother was dead. He'd been cut off by his father and they didn't speak... but Tony had already told him about that. It was all part of the vetting process that every agent had to go through before they got their clearance. He hadn't thought Tony's relationship or lack of relationship with his father was a big problem for DiNozzo. Tony had even joked about it at times. Lots of people grew up without a mother or a father and lots of people didn't get along with their parents. He had a father and he didn't speak to him much either... didn't bother him.

He wasn't so sure about Tony now. The clues were there... he just hadn't been listening. Gibbs was so accustomed to Tony's incessant drivel as they drove to a location or processed a scene, that he hadn't noticed the importance of those few choice times Tony had referred to his father. The joking was real enough, but that was the point. DiNozzo had a tendency to use humour to hide his feelings, hide his pain; hide others' pain too. He could think of half a dozen times now where Tony had joked about his father not coming to watch him at a game, teaching him how to 'report' whilst pouring his father's scotch, leaving him in a hotel suite for heck knows how long. If he'd looked beneath the surface he would have seen it earlier... DiNozzo's past was littered with rejection.

Was that really the reason he was so insecure now? Was it really the reason he desperately needed to be needed? Why he tried to impress so much? Was it the reason he, himself, tried to keep Tony at arm's length? Maybe, subconsciously he didn't want Tony to get too close in case _he_ hurt him in some way and Tony saw it as rejection.

After his mother had died, his father had sent him to a military academy... sent him away. _Out of sight, out of mind?_ Then a couple of years later his father had disowned him completely... rejecting him again.

No, however much Tony joked about his father... however much he said it didn't bother him... it did. But if it really bothered him, why hadn't he done anything about it? Why hadn't he tried to contact his father?

_You don't know that he hasn't Jethro._

Perhaps he had... perhaps he'd tried and failed. Perhaps Tony's father had tried to contact him but Tony had rejected _him _this time. Perhaps that's why Tony thought of himself as a bad person. From rejected to rejecter.

Kicking himself for not listening more closely, Gibbs needed to understand why DiNozzo had been so rattled the other day. He needed to know what wasn't in DiNozzo's personnel file. He needed to know what DiNozzo hadn't told him. If he was going to do this... and he was determined he was because DiNozzo was worth it... then he needed to be prepared for the fallout... for him, and for Tony.

TBC...

* * *

A/N - **The SA3 series.** The SA3s (in italics after each chapter) are a definite AU parody and usually have nothing to do with the story itself. I should have said that right from the beginning when I first started doing these things. My bad and I take full responsibility *slaps back of head*. They are not meant to be taken seriously. They usually contain a plethora of head slaps, growls, stares, hard swallows, coffee and everything associated with NCIS. I make no apologies for the cheese. Hopefully you recognise the characters from somewhere. If you don't then here is a quick recap.

The Boss: Gibbs/ SA3: DiNozzo/ McColleague or McColl: McGee/ Zita or Zee-tah: Ziva/ Ally or Als: Abby/ Director Rants: Vance/ Dr Rad Britt: Dr Brad Pitt/ Agent Dodd: Kate Todd

Others may be added later (will be added later). I hope that explains it. Confusing? Thought so. It'll be even more confusing from chapter three onwards. This SA3 is fairly long. Sorry about that. Well it has been a while (not counting Ailing).

_SA3 sneaked into the squad room eyeing the Boss's desk hesitantly. "Hey McColl, Boss in yet?" he whispered.  
_

_"Nope. Where the hell have you been? We haven't seen or heard from you in over two weeks. It's like you disappeared off the face of the earth. We've been suffering. Do you know how many times the boss has slapped me this week? Even Zita here hasn't escaped."  
_

_"Sorry," SA3 sighed. "Can't talk about it. Undercover."_

_"More like 'keeping a low profile' whilst on suspension SA3466996," the Boss growled as he strode into the squad room, neatly whacking SA3 on the back of his head._

_"Morning Boss," SA3 winced._

_"Suspension?" Zita queried._

_"Uh huh," the Boss replied as he took a seat behind his desk._

_"What d'ya do?"_

_"Nothing McColl..." SA3 spotted the icy glare the Boss was sending in his direction, "much."_

_"Calling the Director a tight-assed wanker who could shove his toothpick up his... is hardly nothing SA3."  
_

_SA3 grimaced. "Yeah, okay Boss... I don't think they need..."_

_"You did not call the Director a..."_

_"He did."_

_"Seriously? And he gave you two weeks for that..."_

_"Would have been four if he'd actually hit him." _

_McColl looked shocked. "You hit Director Rants?"  
_

_"Almost hit him." The Boss took in Zita's intrigued expression before fixing SA3 with a determined stare and continuing with his explanation, "Rants ducked. SA3 got me instead." McColl and Zita both gasped._

_"Yeah... 'bout that Boss, I'm sorry."_

_"You will be," the Boss stated rising from his desk and walking up to SA3 in the middle of the squad room. "Turn around."_

_"Boss?"_

_"Turn. Around."_

_SA3 let out a deep sigh and reluctantly turned 180 degrees to face his own desk. The Boss leaned in close behind SA3's left ear and growled in a low voice that sent shivers down SA3's spine, "See that desk. You don't move from that desk for the next week."_

_"Week!" SA3 exclaimed as he felt the warm wisps of his Boss's breath catch the back of his neck. He swallowed hard. "Week. Understood, Boss." _

_"You do all the team's paperwork that they don't legally have to do themselves," the Boss paused briefly before continuing. "You come in when I tell you to come in, leave when I say you can leave, no breaks unless I okay them and no sound escapes that mouth of yours unless it's a 'Yes Boss' or 'On it, Boss'. Is that clear, SA3?" _

_"Yes Boss." _

_"Right answer. Desk. Go to." The Boss waited until SA3 had taken a seat behind his desk and then turned to address the rest of the team. "Anyone else pisses me off today and they'll be joining SA3 on desk duty. Got it?!"_

_The hastily snapped stereo 'Got it, Boss' response from Zita and McColl echoed around the squad room._


	2. Saturday, 06:58 EST

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 2 – Saturday, 06:58 EST**

* * *

_Concentrating hard, she brought the red sphere up in front of her face and gently touched its cool surface with her blackened lips. Pacing forward, she drew her arm slowly back and then retraced her arc bringing the world forward and releasing it onto the ski slope in front of her._

_She watched the fireball burning a path in the snow until it crashed into a pyramid of black coffees. Hearing the familiar cry of 'Whatya got Abs' and turning from her monitor, she began to explain to a puzzled McGee that the coffee wasn't hot enough and Major mass spec didn't like warm Caf-Pows when Kate began to shout from the corner of the lab and the wine glass Abby was holding shattered. She felt herself falling, crashing, hitting the floor and being smothered by something, or someone._

_Freeing an arm and lifting her head she saw two green eyes pleading for her to stop. The eyes began to beep... eyes couldn't beep... she blinked and Major mass spec beeped. She wasn't running anything through the mass spectrometer though. Both the AFIS and IBIS programmes that she had running on her monitor beeped. How could they beep at the same time? How could she run them at the same time? Something wasn't right. Something was definitely 'hinky'._

'BEEP BEEP'

The noise from the cell on her coffin-side table caused Abby to stir from her slumber and slowly she became aware of her surroundings.

'BEEP BEEP'

She tried to reach for her cell but found herself tightly bound from head to foot by the cotton bedcovers. Managing to get her left arm free, she eased the covers from around her and groped at the table. After several unsuccessful attempts, her fingers finally clasped the device and she brought the cell into view. Focussing, she flipped the lid. _DiNozzo._

_To: Sciuto, Abby_

_From: DiNozzo, Tony_

_Time: 06:55_

_Message: Good luck in the quarters later Abs. Sorry can't be there. _

Tony... he'd wished her luck for the bowling quarter finals later that evening. That was sweet. What was Gibbs doing making him work the weekend? So what if he'd gone missing again. He'd been provoked by Ziva... by all of them really. They'd all joined in when they'd teased him that evening. It wasn't his fault. It was like an owner smacking a puppy for snapping at someone when that same someone had just spent several minutes taunting it and pulling its tail. Punishing puppy Tony wasn't fair.

She'd text him back.

No, she would go in. Tony could probably do with a friendly face right now. And she had a few things she wanted to do in the lab. Well actually there was nothing she had to do in the lab – she was up to date - but she did have some time to kill before the quarter finals this evening. She could take her bowling stuff into work and 'gear up' there before collecting Sister Rosita and the others later.

Her fingers started working overtime on her cell and she was about to text Tony when she stopped, her finger hovering precariously above the send button.

What if he didn't want anyone fussing around him this weekend? What if when she got there he told her he was 'fine' and she shouldn't have come into work on her day off? Then again, she knew him well enough to know that when Tony gave the impression of not wanting anyone to make a fuss he really needed everyone to make a fuss.

She pressed send.

* * *

The elevator doors drew back following the familiar 'ping', signalling its destination reached, and Tony walked out, striding purposefully into the squad room. There was no point in shying away from this. He might as well just get it over and done with. It was just a shift. _One of 'those' shifts_, he thought, his heart sinking as he spied the box of files on his desk together with a lone post it note. There was no sign of Gibbs. Where the hell was he? He had to be somewhere close. Gibbs wouldn't want to miss seeing his reaction to that.

As he took his coat off, he checked the handwriting on the note. It was definitely Gibbs's handiwork. It was a list of jobs for him to do, and standing proud at the top of the list was the one task Tony hated doing most and Gibbs knew it.

_1. Financial stats – MCRT requisitions/ invoices – breakdown for last month _

Numbers two, three and four weren't far behind on his list of hated tasks.

_2. Leave chart – team – next 6 months_

_3. Sick Leave – team – last 6 months _

_4. Truck – Inventory check and restock._

However, they were tasks he could do pretty quickly. Perhaps this weekend wasn't going to be quite as bad as he'd feared, and at least number four would get him out of the squad room for a while. Tony continued to read down Gibbs's numbered list.

_5. MCRT closed case files Q3 audit brought forward to Monday. Go over third quarter's files - SWOT analysis – report on my desk by 17:00 Sunday._

_Crap._ He'd thought too soon. That would take him at least two days working non stop... he had less than two and then there was whatever Gibbs threw into the mix in the mean time. There was no way he could review all that information and do a _thorough_ SWOT analysis on each of... what... maybe the 15, 16 cases they'd closed in Q3. No way. Gibbs was setting him up to fail.

And there was more.

_6. Cold cases – re-examine files in the box. I want new angles on each. PTO._

"What, all of them?" Tony cursed under his breath as he turned the post it note over.

_6. Cont. Report Monday 09:00. All of them DiNozzo. _

Jeez, that man knew him too well. Sighing, Tony prayed for a call to the tip line. He didn't care what it was. Anything. Even a hoax. Just something to give him a valid excuse for not having to spend the next two days sat at his desk with his head bent over a stack of files whilst his boss glared at him... or worse.

He found himself rubbing the back of his head. _Pavlov's dogs again,_ he mused, wondering where on earth Gibbs was. It was unusual for him not to be at his desk at this time of day, although Tony knew he was definitely in and hadn't gone out for coffee... his coat was slung over the back of his chair and the prickly hum of his computer suggested he'd been in and booted up. Tony really just wanted to get the awkwardness of their first conversation of the day over and done with, so that he could get his head down and get on... especially if he was going to meet Gibbs' impossible deadlines. That conversation would have to wait, it would seem.

He was about to set to work when his cell vibrated and gave a shrill beep. Unhooking it from his belt, he prised it open and scanned the display.

_To: DiNozzo, Tony_

_From: Sciuto, Abby_

_Time: 07:03_

_Message: Sweet T. Thanks. Good luck. Remember Gibbs is a pussy cat._

_Yeah, a pussy cat with a deadly hiss and a mean paw swipe,_ Tony considered, staring intently at the screen.

"You finished already DiNozzo?" Gibbs called out, striding past Tony's desk, "Plenty more I can give you... there's yesterday's interviews with Petty Officers Clark, Field and Dawson still to transcribe, Petty Officer Dawson's records need scanning in... _all of them_... and... there's always the outstanding filing from our current casework."

Startled into action, Tony snapped his cell shut spying the uncompromising look on Gibbs's face, "No Boss." _Not finished. Not even started. _

It was going to be a long weekend.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N** – Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I know I write an angsty, more reflective Tony than that portrayed on the show. I see the little moments on the show where he's deep in thought and I play on those in my stories. Just like other people play on Tony's strong competent moments, his frat boy persona, Gibbs's strong protective streak, Abby's serious side, McGee's innocence, Ziva's feelings, Ducky's compassion, Vance's authority...

**SA3 – Injured Pride**

"_Where is he?"_

"_Boss, it wasn't his fault."_

"_Keep telling yourself that McColl. Now where is he?" McColl hesitated. The Boss wasn't in the mood for hesitation. He was annoyed that SA3 hadn't returned his call earlier and now his team had been involved in an accident and SA3 had been injured. "McColleague!"_

"_He's in with Doctor Britt."_

"_And?"_

"_Broken nose and a slight concussion."_

_The Boss sighed. "What the hell happened?"_

"_He was distracted. He only looked away for a moment."_

"_He what! Whilst he was driving? I'll kill him!"_

"_No, Boss... he wasn't driving."_

"_McColl!"_

"_The truck got a flat on the way back to the yard. SA3 was getting the spare tyre from out of the back. I think his cell rang. He took his eyes off the step and missed his footing. Smashed his nose falling out of the truck and then tripped over the tyre as he tried to get up. Gave the tarmac a pretty good whack with his head."_

_The Boss stilled and then relaxed somewhat. "And the truck?"_

"_Rubber-Necker. Wasn't paying attention. Swerved to avoid a vehicle in front and ended up ploughing into the side of us."_

"_Uh huh." The Boss studied McColl for a moment, a hint of concern briefly flashing beneath his steely blue eyes, before turning away and scrubbing a hand across his face. "Slight concussion you said?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Major head injury when I've finished with him."_


	3. Saturday, 13:43 EST

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 3 – Saturday, 13:43 EST**

**

* * *

**

Looking up from his desk, the first time in several hours, Tony realised he was still alone in the squad room. Agent Cole had disappeared not long after he'd arrived and Wright had mumbled something about an interagency case involving the CIA, MI5 and Interpol; but then again, Wright had delusions of grandeur and Tony didn't have the time to indulge him so he let it slide. In fact, Wright had looked quite hurt as he'd hurried out of the squad room. Gibbs had returned from his post lunch coffee run, received a call and muttered something about MTAC and headed off again but that had been over half an hour ago. Not that Tony minded. It had been very quiet for a Saturday and the tension in the MCRT section earlier that day had been palpable to say the least. With Gibbs gone, he'd actually been able to breathe easier. He wasn't quite so jumpy now and, with no one around to tease or impress, he'd buckled down and made pretty good progress with the crappy list. In fact, there was only one person he really wanted to impress. Tony ran a hand through his hair working his way to the back of his neck. His illustrious leader would never tell him anyway if he was impressed with anything he did. He rarely told any of them when they'd done a good job. Gibbs wasn't that kind of Boss. He was more a 'Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen' kind of Boss.

Having finished the first four tasks, he'd started and gone through the first five and was on his sixth closed case file. He'd been completing his SWOT analysis when he'd found something that was odd. A form that was in the Kyle Boone file but that had no relevance to the case at all. It definitely shouldn't have been there. He didn't know why it was there. There was no reason for it to be there. The only link was the date... the same date that they'd closed the case and filed the report with the Director. Perhaps someone had misfiled it? He pitied the person who had; they would be in serious trouble when Gibbs found out.

He wasn't sure he should read what was written on the piece of paper, but glancing at the title, he really really_ really_ wanted to know what was on it. It didn't feel right. _Gibbs would know._ Folding the piece of paper in half, he placed it in his right hand desk drawer and locked it. He couldn't think about it now, and anyway, he had to get on with his analysis of the Boone case file and meet his deadline before Gibbs demoted him back to Junior Field Agent.

The Boone case.

That was a case he couldn't forget. Every detail of was etched with immaculate precision in his memory. They'd not long since lost Kate and they'd almost lost Paula during that case. He'd almost lost Paula during that case. He'd let her go back to the truck alone...

His mind was awash with thoughts of Paula. How she'd been hit over the head and bundled into the trunk of a car. How that bastard had sliced her arm. Perhaps he should've gone back to call Gibbs? Would events have turned out any differently though? _Why did you let her go alone, Anthony?_

_Because she was a trained federal agent who knew how to look after herself. Because I had assessed the situation for obvious, and not so obvious, dangers and had concluded it was safe to do so. Because neither Paula, nor I, could have anticipated what was going to happen. Because I was the Senior Field Agent in charge of the scene and I had responsibility for it._

_You also had responsibility for your Agents, Anthony. _

_It was an acceptable risk. _

_So you're risking your Agents' lives now?_

_No... well... yes... kind of._

There were times when Tony wished his conscience would shut up and leave him alone.

_I did the right thing sending Paula back to contact Gibbs and I'd do exactly the same thing again given the same circumstances. I made the right decision._

He just wished it wasn't so god damned hard to live with.

Lifting his hands to his face, he worked the tension from his brow and then rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could feel the twinges of a headache coming on; lack of food probably. Sighing deeply, he ran his fingers through his hair and found himself desperately in need of Abby's infectious chatter and understanding eyes. He fought the urge to call her, but his strength seemed to have waned in direct proportion to his blood sugar level and realising he'd already keyed half her cell number into his handset he decided to continue. The ringing on the other end of the line was matched by a shrill familiar ring tone coming from somewhere nearby. She couldn't be here. She was at home, wasn't she?

No, she wasn't. He looked up. She was standing in front of him - backpack and bowling bag both over her right shoulder, cell in her left hand. She exuded warmth and affection.

"Hi Tony," she said into her cell.

"Hi Abby," he said into his handset. "What are you doing..." he stopped himself, a pink tinge flushing across his cheeks. He looked awkwardly at the handset before putting it back in the cradle, "...here?" he finished.

"Had stuff to do... in the lab... lab stuff... stuff in the lab."

He knew she didn't have anything to do. She was here for him and he was so lucky to have her. Everyone was lucky to have Abby. She was a good friend - smart, kind, up for a laugh, and dedicated; amazingly dedicated. But she had a wild streak in her too, and Tony loved that; it matched her dark eyes and that infectious smile. No wonder Gibbs kept bringing her Caf-Pows. Abby could wrap anyone around her little finger, including Tony. Not that he minded.

"Abby, you didn't..."

"Don't be angry Tony."

"I'm not angry Abs... I'll leave that to him," he nodded in the direction of Gibbs's empty desk.

"Coffee?"

"MTAC... got a call apparently. Although..." Cocking his head on one side, he added with a hint of suspicion, "I never actually saw him go in."

"That's because I didn't DiNozzo," Gibbs's voice echoed from the ether, as the very man entered the squad room and kicked DiNozzo's desk making both Tony and Abby jump. "I see you're hard at it... as usual."

"I..." Tony began to protest, but stopped when he caught the look that Gibbs was giving him. Locking his jaw firmly, he looked at Abby and then looked back at Gibbs - who hadn't moved a muscle - and after a few more seconds of the heavily concentrated Gibbs' stare, Tony looked down at the papers on his desk and started sifting through them. There was no sense in pushing Gibbs further – not on something like that. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gibbs turn to face Abby.

"Abby, why are you here?" The icy blue stare Gibbs shot her was matched by the chill in his voice.

"Stuff to do," she replied, equally as cold.

Tony watched briefly, over the top of his monitor, as Abby turned on her heels and left before Gibbs could interrogate her further. It was a mistake.

"Hey!" Gibbs warned, "Case files... Now!"

Seeing the anger flash in Gibbs's eyes, Tony immediately busied himself with his SWOT analysis of closed case number 6 of 15. _So this was how Gibbs was playing it then_, Tony thought. _Better get used to it. Suck it up, Anthony. There was going to be a lot more yelling before the weekend was out._

Although Gibbs was mad, he wasn't really mad at Tony; frustrated with him but not mad, and he certainly wasn't mad at Abby. But he'd taken his anger out on them and that made him... well... mad.

As he positioned himself behind his own desk and touched the mouse so that his e-mails revealed themselves on the monitor directly ahead, recent memories flooded his mind. He couldn't get that image of Tony out of his head. The look he'd seen a few days ago. The look he'd also seen several years ago. It was a look of utter defeat and lost hope within those dark and lifeless eyes that had suggested the absence of any possible remaining fight. It was a look he'd never thought possible of DiNozzo; the man was so god damned hyper and he certainly wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes... and heard it with his own ears. The first time, Tony had said he was a worthless piece of crap. This time he hadn't, but Gibbs had sensed the same thoughts a few days ago from Tony.

The piercing shrill of Gibbs's phone broke the awkward silence inhabiting the squad room and brought Gibbs swiftly back from his thoughts. He picked up the phone and answered with his usual no-nonsense, get straight to the point greeting.

"Gibbs."

As he listened to the caller he stiffened, "Where?" He swiftly jotted the details down before replacing the handset.

"Boss?"

"Dead civilian, Lucas Reynolds, 19 years old."

"Why are _we_ taking this?"

"Because _he_, DiNozzo, was taking PLC at Quantico. Been there for the past week along with 19 other candidates. Found hanging at 12.30 today when his room-mate... a Matt Webb... noticed him missing from chow. Tore his sheets, used them as a noose... or so _they_ say."

"Suicide?"

"Do we take suicides, DiNozzo?"

"Well, technically we..."

"Technically, we keep an open mind; we investigate; we find out. Gear up. Call Ducky."

"Ducky?"

"Don't make me say it again, DiNozzo."

"But Boss, he's not..."

"Call Ducky!" Gibbs yelled across the squad room.

As he grabbed his Sig from his desk drawer he spied, from the corner of his eye, Tony silently dialling the number for Ducky's home. Gibbs hadn't used that tone for a while but he knew the effect it had on his senior field agent well enough. The guy looked as though he'd visibly shrunk. Almost immediately Gibbs found himself wishing, not for the first time, that DiNozzo would sometimes just follow orders instead of questioning them.

* * *

Abby sat, clutching Bert to her chest, hidden underneath the side workbench in her office. She wasn't even meant to be in, just visiting; hoping to catch Tony and see how he was doing... really doing... after their little 'chat' at the 101 bar the other night. And yet somehow, within five minutes of arriving, she had managed to be on the receiving end of the infamous ice blue Gibbs' stare. The doors to the outer lab were locked, stating in no uncertain terms that visitors bearing Caf-Pows were not welcome... unless they happened to have dark brown hair, green eyes and answered to the Goth girl's familiar cry 'Tony!' and then she'd gladly open up. She'd even let _him_ borrow her futon; Bert too if he wanted.

Easing her hold on the cuddly hippo for just a millisecond and then tightening her grip, she waited for the inevitable but reassuring fart to echo around her ears. Blinking away a small tear, Abby desperately wanted, or rather needed... a hug. Even more than that though, whether he wanted it or not, she wanted, or rather needed to hug Tony.

Unfortunately there was no legitimate reason though, no reason _she_ could think of that could safely enable her to go back up to the squad room, bound up to Tony, wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, rest her head on his chest and squeeze the happiness back into both of them. She wouldn't make it anywhere near Tony's desk, not without being ensnared by Gibbs and being told to 'Leave. Now. Abs.'

Mimicking his voice in her head she began to smile and squeezed Bert tighter. Bert obliged with another resounding fart and Abby chuckled. "Leave. Now. Abs," she mimicked out loud to herself and squeezed Bert as tight as she could.

"Phhtt."

Hooking Bert under her arm, Abby scrambled out from underneath the workbench, headed for her workstation, pressed the power button and waited for her computer to boot up. "You always know what to say," she said, pausing briefly, as she kissed and then placed the stuffed toy hippo on the work top next to her computer. "Wanna help me with an e-mail?"

* * *

_What the hell was that about?_ Tony thought. _Dr Harrison's the on-call ME this weekend, not Ducky._ A voice on the other end of the line startled him.

"_Dr Mallard." _

"Hi Ducky. Tony. Sorry to call you..." he grimaced, "we need you on a case. Suspicious death, possible suicide. Lucas Reynolds. 19. Marine Officer training. Platoon leader entry. Don't think he's going to pass now though."

"_Oh dear. Yes of course. I'll come and pick up the truck on the way. Where am I going Anthony?"_

"Marine Corps Base, Quantico. Ducky..." Tony hesitated, "sorry about calling you out."

"_Oh that's quite all right dear boy. I swapped with Dr Harrison. She couldn't do this weekend and I offered. She's giving a talk at Waverly University on patterns of behaviour in relation to body dumping. She really is quite a remarkable lady. You know, she has a rather fine collection of..."_

"Don't think I wanna know, Du..."

"Today, DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped, as he strode past Tony's desk on route to the elevator.

"Gotta go Ducky. Meet you there," he replied apologetically down the line before quickly hanging up. "On your..." his raised voice tailed off as he realised Gibbs wasn't listening. Tony sighed, holstered his Sig and grabbed his backpack before jogging to catch up with his team leader at the elevator. "Sorry Boss."

Gibbs leaned forward and whacked the call button again and Tony winced in sympathy. They waited for the comforting 'ping' that preceded the parting of the elevator doors and then stepped inside. Both men stood in silence as the doors closed and, with the press of a button, Gibbs ordered the lift down to the garage. Tony watched the numbers lighting up above the doors whilst Gibbs stared intently at the buttons at the side of the doors.

They rode the rest of the elevator journey in silence.

* * *

The tension in the squad room had eased slightly when Gibbs and Tony had left, although Kate could still feel the remnants of something deep. It was funny; she found this whole being dead thing weird - not at all what she had expected. To be honest, she didn't really know what she had expected of the great afterlife: Sitting on a cloud drinking wine and eating grapes? Seeing her grandmother again? Rotting away in a coffin six feet under? A big black nothing? Haunting her old team mates in the NCIS squad room?

Was she really dead? She didn't feel dead, if it was possible to 'feel' dead. What was she? A ghost? Apparition? Spectre? Ghoul? A wicked thought ran through her non corporeal being. _Please let me be a poltergeist_. She could have a lot of fun getting DiNozzo back for all his pranks, and there wouldn't be a single thing he could do about it.

Kate sat at her desk, only it wasn't strictly her desk now, it was Ziva's. Even though she had never met her, as she sat there in the new occupant's chair, she could sense the pain and the loss that Ziva had endured. She could see things, feel things, move from place to place in an instant. Her senses were so much more heightened in death. It was weird. She sensed all of their pain. Both Gibbs and Tony had loved and lost. She found that surprising of Tony given the playboy image he tended to project, but with Gibbs, the pain was deep and intense. He didn't use humour or deflection techniques to throw people off the scent; he just hid it so expertly that she hadn't even known to look for it. _Tony could learn a few things from Gibbs_, she thought, _if only he'd listen_.

* * *

As Gibbs sped along I-95 heading towards Quantico, Tony alternated from looking down at his notebook to looking out of the window. Gibbs hadn't said a word since the squad room. He'd uttered nothing as they rode the elevator. Not a sound had passed his lips as he'd taken his seat in the truck and nothing had been said in the twenty minutes they'd been on the road.

Tony refrained from turning the radio on. The silence in the truck was unnerving but he didn't want to 'get it' from all sides. He'd already been trying hard to avoid the glares of the irate drivers of the other vehicles that Gibbs had swerved past and had seriously tried to block out the blares of their horns. Even so, the silence in the cab was unsettling and it felt awkward.

Deciding to try a peace offering, one he thought wouldn't have him losing a hand in the process, Tony glanced over at Gibbs and hesitated briefly before he broke the silence.

"How's the boat coming along Boss?"

"Be coming along a lot faster if I didn't have to keep babysitting you, DiNozzo."

His mouth slightly ajar, Tony stared at his team leader for a moment. He looked for a sign... a small twitch or a half smile, anything that would give him an indication that his boss didn't mean what he'd implied in his answer. There was nothing... his face uncompromising, unresponsive to the apparent hurt that briefly flashed in Tony's eyes. Dropping his gaze, Tony turned to stare at the dashboard in front of him. Gibbs had meant it. He swallowed hard and flipped open his notebook to check his brief notes again. _Damn it Anthony... Focus_.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N** - Huge thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing and PMing.

This next SA3 is a 'crack' AU SA3 story which continues throughout the remaining chapters. There are a few Stargate references thrown in for fun later on. Credit goes to radnessISbadness for the suggestion.

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 1 - Stress relief **

"_C'mon Boss, why me? I mean... the 'Law Enforcement EXPO 2009'. You know McColl loves this stuff. It's geek central here. All these firewalls, filters and..." SA3's eyes widened as he picked up a rubbery mock Sig Sauer from one of the exhibitor's stands, "firearms." He squeezed it tight. "Tasteful."_

"_Put it down, SA3."_

"_Zita would love this. Look Boss, it's even got the safety and both right and left-handed grip. I could take one for McColl. We could..."_

'_Whack!'_

"_Putting it down, Boss." SA3 put the stress relieving Sig back on the stand and rubbed the back of his head._

"_I need a filter," the Boss growled, heading towards the exit._

"_Three stands back on the left, Boss," SA3 called after him, simultaneously flashing a smile at the twenty-something blonde in the tight business suit and four inch heels who was demonstrating the real Sig Sauer's newly improved magazine quick release action to another delegate. The smile quickly disappeared as realisation dawned on the agent. "You meant coffee," SA3 muttered to himself and with a worried expression he turned quickly on his heels and sprinted to catch up with the Boss._

_TBC..._

* * *


	4. Saturday, 15:34 EST

**A/N -** Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 4 – Saturday, 15:34 EST**

* * *

Even though Gibbs had made the journey in record time, it had still seemed to take an age.

On arrival at Quantico, the two NCIS agents had been met by Sergeant Alvarez who had immediately taken them to see Colonel Andrew Watson and Matt Webb, the officer candidate who had found Reynolds. They'd just finished their informal preliminary interview and the Colonel had sent Webb and Alvarez back to their training, when a young marine appeared at the doorway with Ducky in tow.

"Excuse me, Sir. The NCIS Medical Examiner, Dr Mallard, is here."

"Thank you, Corporal. Dismissed."

Watson stood and then moved to the doorway, "Gentlemen, would you like to follow me and I'll take you to Reynolds's room. It was sealed immediately after I was notified at 12:40 today."

Gibbs cocked his head at Ducky at that remark before leading the delegation that followed Colonel Watson.

* * *

Watson led the group out of the main building across the courtyard and to the PLC resident barracks. Two flights of stairs later, they entered a long corridor.

"It's the second door on the left," Watson stated. The two marines stationed outside the entrance to the room immediately stood to attention and saluted.

Gibbs and Ducky entered the room first, followed by Colonel Watson. DiNozzo hung back just inside the doorway and surveyed the scene. The room was small and furnished with two beds, one to either side of the door, two tall slim cabinets and two small chests of drawers at the end of each bed. One barred window opposite the doorway allowed some natural light through and helped to give the illusion of a larger room. It was, Tony noted, a typically tidy marine room, basic and functional, everything had its own place. It reminded Tony of the room he'd shared, as a boy, at the Academy... well, with the exception of a couple of items. This room lacked the desks and chairs that had been standard issue at the Academy. His room had lacked the young man who hung from a makeshift noose that had been tied around one of the bars on the window.

He must have been deep in thought for too long because Gibbs's next order was delivered with more gruffness than he'd been expecting.

"DiNozzo... bag and tag. I'll shoot and sketch."

"No problem, Boss."

"Wasn't expecting one, DiNozzo."

The curtness wasn't lost on Tony or, for that matter, Colonel Watson who watched, unsympathetically, as the younger of the two agents removed his back pack - with a little more force than was necessary - and began a slow, silent thorough grid search of the room looking for anything of evidential value that could help their investigation.

"Thank you, Colonel Watson. We'll take it from here. You can let the guards go," Gibbs nodded to the doorway. "We'll be in touch if we need anything."

Once the Colonel had left, all three men got to work. Processing the scene was difficult because the room was so small. Ducky had priority over the body so he took that immediate area. Gibbs took the right hand side of the room and Tony was left with... the left. The lack of chatter in the room was painfully apparent but blessedly punctuated by the sounds of gloves being snapped on, Gibbs's camera flash, Ducky retrieving his necessary instruments and DiNozzo opening and sealing plastic and paper evidence bags. Tony kept his eyes low, searching diligently until Ducky abruptly stopped examining Lucas Reynolds and looked towards the two agents; anger flashed through the Medical Examiner's eyes.

"He's been dressed, Jethro."

Gibbs looked up and murmured something Tony couldn't hear.

As Tony levered himself up from his crouching position by the left hand bed, he looked more closely at the unfortunate youngster hanging lifelessly in front of the window. Pacing over to stand behind Gibbs and Ducky he confirmed the M.E.'s suspicion. "Hmm... shirt buttons... wrong holes... shoe laces aren't tied... no socks," he stated. "Amateurs, Boss."

"Or no time... I need to talk to Webb again," Gibbs remarked as he turned and thrust the camera and electronic measure into Tony's hands and pushed past him. He was a man on a mission.

"Guess I'll shoot, sketch, bag and tag then," Tony shot forcefully after his disappearing team leader. "What?" he snapped as Ducky eyed him. Hooking the camera strap over his head and around his neck Tony continued, "Ducky, I've been dodging bullets from him all day. He's glared, yelled, made snide comments. He's given me deadlines that even he would be hard pressed to keep. The only thing he hasn't done is slap the back of my head. Which, I might add, I am very grateful for. You know he had a go at Abby earlier?"

"Abigail? Oh dear. Jethro..."

"What's going on, Ducky?" Tony paced to the door, turned and paced back to the M.E. "I've messed up before. He's never been like this. Is he trying to make me quit? Is that it? Because if he is, I won't give him the satisfaction? Believe me when I say I've taken a lot worse." He turned and began to walk away.

"But not from Gibbs."

Tony stopped dead. Ducky's words were plain, calmly stated and straight to the point. Tony _had_ taken worse, just not from anyone he'd trusted or respected as much as Gibbs. That was why this hurt so much.

"You're not the first you know, Anthony. You won't be the last either. Granted Jethro's methods are a little unorthodox..."

"I knew that when I first met him," Tony clipped, still not looking at the M.E. "What d'you mean, _I'm not the first_?"

"Why are you working this weekend, Anthony?"

Tony was thrown a little by that question and spun around to face Dr Mallard. "Because Gibbs told me I had to."

Ducky sighed. "Then we'd better get back to work, hadn't we? Tony, would you be so kind as to fetch the gurney from the truck? I seem to have come out without Mr Palmer this weekend. I would fetch it myself but..."

Tony was ready to protest but declared to himself that he needed some air... and to get out of the tiny room. "Sure."

"I've parked next to you."

* * *

Gibbs had chosen not to respond to Tony's remark, electing instead to continue down the corridor to find Colonel Watson. He walked on, his mind wandering ahead of him.

It hadn't escaped his attention that Tony was wearing one of his smarter suits; unusual for a weekend. He knew why, of course. Lots of people had favourite items of clothing. People had jackets that made them feel invincible, knitted sweaters that comforted, sweats that relaxed them. He had his NIS T-shirt. Tony had his suits, ties... and shoes. Over the years, he'd noticed that the smarter the suit, the more vulnerable Tony had appeared to be feeling; the more he needed to be seen to be together and controlled to the casual observer. Smart suits usually coincided with some kind of event - like the anniversary of his mother's death; a harrowing case; after a trip to the hospital to receive treatment, or occasionally when he'd done something to piss him off and was worried about repercussions.

Today's suit was black with a dark grey shirt and black tie.

Tony had obviously been worried about this weekend and Gibbs didn't blame him. He knew there would come a time when he and Tony would have to talk, but he didn't really _do_ talking. Not with his team. Sometimes he wished he could but the right words were always hard to find, especially with those he cared about. Ducky was so much better at talking; Abby too, and Tony... well Tony seemed to talk about everything _but_ personal issues. So instead of _talking_, he'd brought out the bastard gunny routine in full continuous force, trying to shake Tony up both physically and emotionally, wearing him down and getting him to _talk_ first.

They were standard military techniques; shouting and yelling; glaring; getting in people's faces; the silent treatment. It was cruel but effective, and it got results – whether it was directed towards a suspect in interrogation or a member of his team. He had faith that Tony could handle it. His senior field agent wasn't military but he _had_ lasted, and he just hoped that the treatment from his 'bastard of a boss' wouldn't inadvertently cause him to run. If Tony needed to run, there was only one place Gibbs wanted him to run to... him. However, he still needed to do this. He needed to stress Tony in order to find out whether he was right about him.

Finding himself back outside Watson's office, Gibbs quickly schooled his thoughts, knocked once and opened the door. "Colonel Watson. I need to speak to Webb, again."

Watson picked up the telephone on his desk, made a brief call and replaced the receiver. "He's on his way."

* * *

Several hours later and back in the warmth of the squad room, Tony sat alone and contemplated his relegation to the role of autopsy gremlin. After Gibbs had left to talk to Webb, and he and Ducky had had their little chat, he had fetched the gurney and helped Ducky to cut Reynolds down. Then he'd looked for, collected, packaged and logged evidence from Reynolds's room before Gibbs had returned and suggested he ride with Ducky and transport Lucas's body back to NCIS headquarters.

Agent Rosario from the North East Field Office in Newport had gone to inform the mother, Vanessa Reynolds. Mrs Reynolds hadn't taken no for an answer and had insisted she come to D.C. to view her son's body and collect his personal effects. She was now on her way. Lucas's father, James Reynolds had died eight years previously in a car accident.

Neither Gibbs nor Tony had found any other evidence of suspicious circumstances at the scene. Tony had, however, found an unsigned, unaddressed simple note.

_Sorry_

Gibbs had established that Alvarez had ordered Webb to find Reynolds once his absence from chow had been noted. Matt Webb had searched for and found Lucas Reynolds hanging, semi-naked, from a makeshift noose in their room. Webb was his roommate and he'd built up a strong friendship with Reynolds over the course of their PLC training. Not wanting Reynolds to be found unclothed, Webb had tried to dress him before alerting Sergeant Alvarez and informing Colonel Watson. He'd said it was a marine thing... to have each other's backs. Gibbs would have scoffed at that, Tony mused. Webb had hardly been able to do an average enough job at dressing the guy. If Gibbs had been his superior, he would have expected... no, demanded, nothing less than full dress uniform; and with an even smaller window of opportunity.

It was such a stupid thing to do, dressing a body; effectively it was disturbing a crime scene, but he could understand why people did it. He'd worked suicide and homicide cases before, where the victims had been covered up by the people who had found them... and in some cases by the person who had killed them.

This case though had all the hallmarks of a suicide rather than homicide. Reynolds was young, male and his method of choice, for the act, was hanging. Still, they had to wait for Ducky to carry out the autopsy and report his findings. He'd logged all the evidence he'd brought back from the scene, into the evidence garage but he would get Abby to look for prints on the suicide note and he'd already sent her an image scan of the note for a handwriting comparison analysis.

Quite simply, Lucas Reynolds had hung himself.

The speakers from his computer beeped, signalling the arrival of another e-mail in his Inbox. He hadn't checked his e-mails yet, opting to run a background check on Webb, Reynolds's roommate; fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the way you looked at it, the check had revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

_Food, Anthony needs food._

The interruption came out of nowhere. Hunger had already interfered with his ability to concentrate whilst he'd been writing up his notes and he hoped it wouldn't be long before Gibbs came back with coffee... and something to eat, pizza hopefully. In the meantime, he ought to check his e-mails.

There were several. A couple from Tamsin, the girl he'd met in the park a week ago. There was yet another from personnel, Dominic this time; asking for details of his emergency contact and death benefactor's name. If he told them a thousand times, it'd never be enough. They always mucked up _his_ details. As he scanned down the list, his attention was caught when he read the subject line of an e-mail from Abby. Double-clicking the e-mail icon, a new window burst forth onto the screen and Tony began to read.

_From: Sciuto, Abby_

_To: DiNozzo, Tony_

_Subject: Futons, Farts and Friends_

_Tony_

_I'm here 'til 4pm, 16:00 or 21:00 Z UTC if you want to buy me a Caf-Pow. Can't stay later. Need to pick up Sister Rosita. Sorry Tony, but I really can't let the girls down. You've got __**all**__ my numbers. Call me. Anytime. Leave a message. Just call me. Okay. Call. If you need to. If you don't, then you don't need to call, but if you do... do. Okay._

_Abs_

_PS - The futon is under the bench as always._

_PPS - Bert needs squeezing._

_Squeeze Bert_. Tony chuckled and shook his head at the 'Abby-mail'. _Might use the futon though_, he pondered, if Gibbs hadn't fired him before the day was out.

The high pitched noise of Gibbs's telephone rang through the squad room, catching Tony unawares, and he swiftly transferred the call from Gibbs's phone to his own and picked it up.

"Special Agent..."

"_Jethro, I need you down here."_

"Sorry, Ducky you've got me instead. Gibbs is getting coffee and..."

"_Doesn't he have someone to do that for him?"_

"Well, unless it's case related, Gibbs has made it perfectly clear that I'm grounded and I don't think he'd ask you, so... I guess that just leaves him."

There was a short silence and Tony wasn't sure whether Ducky had put the phone down.

"Ducky?"

"_Okay Anthony, I need you down here."_

"On my way."

After replacing the handset and transferring his calls to his cell, Tony made his way to the elevator, pausing briefly to place the details of the background check on Webb and his crime scene notes on Gibbs's desk.

* * *

Tension was high in the club where Abby, Sister Rosita and her fellow nuns were mid competition. Their rivals, the 'Beltway Hooters' had just bowled a strike and Abby was up next. She had to do this. The Hooters were winning.

She drew her arm back during the small run up and placed the ball square in the centre of the lane. Straight down the middle, this ball knew exactly where it was going and pulled no punches. It was fast, committed and deadly; no ninepin was safe from the powerful, rolling force as it smashed its way straight through the skittles with a resounding smack.

_S-t-r-i-ke_.

_And the crowd went wild_, Abby mused.

The 'Beltway Hooters' bowled an eight. They'd improved, a lot. She was going to have to bowl another strike if there was any chance of winning the game. Feeling the need to rid herself of the pressure weighing heavily on her shoulders, she decided a slightly different tactic would be needed this time.

She drew her arm back and, with a small flick of her wrist, brought her arm forward and released the ball. It veered to the right and one of the 'Hooters' started to laugh. Another rolled his eyes, no doubt thinking she'd handed them the competition on a plate because the ball was obviously heading for the ditch and there was absolutely no way it would hit anything. But Abby knew better. She had faith. Faith in her ball, and she waited, not once taking her eyes off the sphere as it slowly and with impeccable precision, arced back towards the middle of the lane, targeting the central skittle and deftly crashed right through the core bringing all the ninepins down.

_S-t-r-i-ke_.

Abby punched high in the air and spun around. "Yes!"

As she rejoined the nuns on the bench, a huge grin on her face, Sister Rosita glanced up and smiled.

"The DiNozzo play?"

"Uh huh. Works every time."

"What next?"

"Mmm, not sure. May have to bring out Ziva."

"Steady Abigail, you do know you only have to knock the skittles over, not smash them to smithereens."

* * *

_Where the hell has he gone now?_ That was Gibbs's immediate thought as he strode out of the elevator, only to be greeted by an empty squad room.

As he opened the paper bag that had accompanied him back from the coffee shop and removed the coffee, soda, Caf-Pow and two rolls and placed them on his desk, he spotted DiNozzo's crime scene notes and background check he'd done on Webb. Gibbs turned and glanced at the chair which his senior field agent should have been sitting in and smiled. DiNozzo wasn't going to run.

The aroma of the coffee on his own desk was just too tempting and he took a long glug from the Styrofoam cup, unwrapped his roll and bit into it, savouring the taste of a Chicken BLT. Then he hesitated fractionally before throwing the soda and the other roll into his trash can. He checked his desk phone, which he found had been forwarded to Tony's. Walking over to his senior field agent's desk, he found that his phone had been forwarded on to DiNozzo's cell. _Atta boy._ With a determined stride, he snatched the Caf-Pow from his own desk and went looking for Tony.

* * *

Hands firmly in his pockets and with a resigned air, Tony strolled into Autopsy. "COD, Dr Mallard?"

"Mmm... rather formal, young Anthony."

"Practicing my interview technique, Ducky", Tony quipped, walking over to the autopsy table. "How are you with CVs?"

"Surely it can't be that bad, Anthony?" Ducky looked up from his clipboard, "You know I once had a Surgical professor at Edinburgh who..."

"You have something for me... or rather something for Gibbs, Ducky?" Tony pressed the M.E.

"Yes, yes I do." Ducky balanced the clipboard on the edge of the autopsy table and folded the sheet part way back to reveal the lifeless head and upper torso of Lucas Reynolds. "Cause of death was asphyxia due to strangulation. See the 'V' mark around the neck. The hyoid bone was crushed and there is definite petechial haemorrhaging in the conjunctiva of both eyes. I'll have to wait for the toxicology reports to confirm no other substances of interest, but all the signs are consistent with death by hanging. Most likely the young man took his own life."

"So the dressing was..."

"Just a friend wanting to help," Ducky answered, "a fellow marine looking after his own."

"Not a marine, Ducky; never will be now."

"Who are we talking about here, Anthony?" Ducky eyed Tony quizzically. After a few seconds he continued, "However, what is more disturbing is this," Ducky folded the sheet back further allowing Tony sight of the full torso.

He thought the ugly v-shaped bruising around the neck was bad enough, but he was taken aback by the extent of the bruising over the rest of the torso. Ducky pre-empted his verbal response.

"Yes Anthony he was beaten".

"But it didn't contribute to his death?"

"I wouldn't say that, Anthony." Ducky raised an eyebrow, "Physically, no, it didn't. None of the injuries were severe enough to cause any internal bleeding."

Tony nodded, folding his arms. "His sergeant?"

"I don't think so, see these marks here and here," Ducky pointed to a set of ugly purple patches on the Reynolds' left flank. "These are recent, and expected of any marine undergoing training; nothing unusual about that, but some of these are more angular... and these ones under the right arm are much older." Pausing, he gestured for Tony to help him lift the body up.

Tony grimaced, grabbed a set of gloves and joined Ducky at the opposite side of the table. They turned the body gently and Tony forced himself not to react at the sight that greeted him.

"These marks range in age, well before he ever enrolled on PLC training," Ducky continued and pointed at the criss-cross of scars that littered Reynolds' back. "As you can see, some have healed quite well but this one just below the right shoulder blade... well," Ducky sighed as they gently lowered Reynolds back down. "The angled shape of the markings are consistent with a small oblong object about five by seven centimetres... and yes, before you ask, Anthony... if I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he was beaten with..."

"A belt..."

"Not _just_ a belt, Anthony."

"Yeah Ducky, I know..." Tony interrupted.

"And you didn't find one at the scene?"

"Not one that would have done that."

"Oh."

* * *

Gibbs walked into the lab hoping to find Abby either tapping away on her computer or busily preparing a sample so that she could insert it into one of her little grey coloured boxes but he knew she wouldn't be there when he couldn't hear the blare of the ear-torturing noise that usually accompanied her presence in the lab. There was no sign of his senior field agent either. He'd thought DiNozzo might have ventured down to see Abby. After all, the evidence wouldn't process itself.

As it was, the lab was devoid of either Abby or DiNozzo. _Pity_. He would have liked to have been able to clear the air with Abby. DiNozzo, on the other hand, was another matter; he hadn't finished with him, and clearing the air would have to wait just a little longer.

Leaving the Caf-Pow on the desk in Abby's office, he headed out of the forensics lab and down the back stairs to autopsy to find Ducky.

As he approached the doors to Autopsy, Gibbs could make out the muffled sounds of his M.E. and his senior field agent talking. He moved closer but stayed outside the room, trying to listen in to their conversation. Even with impeccable hearing, it was hard to recognise the words through the closed door so he tried to watch their lips through the oblong Perspex window, but it was near impossible to see them clearly enough to understand the conversation. Straining his ears hard, he picked up something about a case in Baltimore. Kids had been involved. _A case Tony had worked on? One of his homicide cases maybe?_

Frustrated at not being able to catch all that Tony was saying, Gibbs opted to observe his body language instead. Tony looked uncomfortable, his arms were folded protectively in front of him, his neutral expression was convincing but his eyes revealed a heavy burden and when he spoke, what few words came were vocalised quietly, softly, inaudible except to the ME at Tony's side, but Gibbs didn't physically need to hear them to recognise the guilt evident within them... a guilt that tugged at DiNozzo's very core.

* * *

Kate was appalled. How could Gibbs do that? Eavesdropping on a private conversation between two of his team was definitely not allowed. Especially not without the appropriate authority and duly signed forms to back up that authority.

Okay, _she_ did it. She listened in on her friends' conversations, but _she_ was allowed. _She_ was dead, he wasn't. _That's mean, Gibbs_, she huffed, immediately leaving his side and repositioning herself beside Ducky in Autopsy.

* * *

Gibbs was still eavesdropping from outside autopsy as Ducky and Tony's conversation drew to a close. Ducky patted Tony's arm and smiled at the younger man who then edged towards the door. Neither of them had seen him and Gibbs quickly stepped into the stairwell and closed the door. He observed silently as his senior field agent left autopsy, entered the elevator and punched the buttons with more force than was needed. As soon as the doors closed and he heard the elevator commence its journey to the floors above, he opened the stairwell door and strode determinedly into autopsy.

Ducky looked up as Gibbs entered and sighed.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Some."

"I know you have a propensity for staying one step ahead of your agents, Jethro, but that was a private conversation," Ducky huffed. "In confidence."

"Baltimore?"

"In confidence means... in confidence... Special Agent Gibbs. You should know better," the M.E. rebuked, wagging a finger. "And, I'm surprised you'd even think I'd break his trust like that. Especially after the way you've been treating Anthony. You didn't treat Stanley like this on _his_ weekend. Now, Lucas Reynolds."

As the Doctor recounted the salient findings from his autopsy report for Gibbs, he couldn't help but notice the hesitant and pained expression that his friend wore. He kept the report professional and relevant. Gibbs seemed to be registering the details but his mind, Ducky noted, was working overtime on other matters. This definitely wasn't the time for regaling Gibbs with another of his stories about his time as a student in Edinburgh. Once his oral report was complete, Gibbs nodded briefly at him and turned to leave.

"Jethro. You can't... he won't thank you."

"We'll see."

TBC...

* * *

**A/N -** I couldn't have a bowling scene without Abby comparing her different 'plays' to Gibbs, Tony and Ziva. Now, for the SA3. I did mention that it was a crack SA3 didn't I?

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 2 - Old acquaintances?**

_Gibbs had sent DiNozzo to get food. He'd given strict 'no junk food' instructions but he reckoned Tony would come back with a couple of candy bars for himself and something that barely passed for a roll for him. He didn't care; the guy was driving him crazy and it wasn't the first time he wished he'd brought McGee instead. Spying the long queue for liquid refreshments he walked straight past the other LEOs waiting patiently, and up to the front of the queue where he demanded an extra large, strong, black coffee. No sugar._

"_Thought I recognised that tone," a vaguely familiar voice piped up from behind him. "Getting your own coffee now, Gibbs. Where's your Probie?"_

"_Left him in D.C. DiNozzo's on a food run." Gibbs grabbed his coffee and spun around to shake the hand the man had offered. "Lieutenant Cheney. Good to see you again."_

"_You too Gibbs. So..." Cheney continued, "You drew the short straw too?"_

"_Hey!" Gibbs turned and glared at the silver haired man who'd just pushed between him and Cheney and demanded a strong, black, sugarless coffee from the young man behind the counter. Gibbs wiped the spilt coffee off his jacket as the man turned around to face him._

"_Problem?" the man asked._

"_Hell, yeah!" Gibbs growled as he stepped up close to the man who dared to mess with his coffee._

_Cheney glanced at the delegate badge on the unknown man's jacket pocket. "Hey, you're NCIS too," he hastily intervened, as the two men commenced a full blown stare out contest in the middle of the refreshment hall. "You two know each other?" _

"_Never met," Gibbs stated coldly, his eyes not once deviating from their target._

"_Gibbs, his badge says he's from..."_

"_D.C." Gibbs quietly stated whilst appraising the man before him. "I know, Cheney."_

"_But you... he..."_

"_HE better have a damn good reason for spilling my coffee."_

_TBC..._

_

* * *

_


	5. Saturday, 19:45 EST

**A/N **- Thanks again to everyone for reading and reviewing. I'd also like to offer huge thanks again to CSIGeekFan, Obsessed Pam and Will for the beta.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 5 – Saturday, 19:45 EST**

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* * *

**

Tony placed the SWOT analysis reports on Gibbs's desk and walked back to his own. He'd seen the coffee on his team leader's desk and the half-eaten sandwich roll and had spied the leaking Soda and what looked like a meat sandwich roll of some sort in Gibbs's trash can. Eating couldn't be further from his mind at the moment; his appetite lost after his recent trip to autopsy. Sinking into his chair, Tony ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn't get the sight of those marks on Lucas Reynolds' body out of his head; he'd seen those kinds of injuries before... from his time in Baltimore, Philly, Peoria; everywhere his feet had taken him. Baltimore had been the worst.

Six months into his tour at Baltimore homicide, Detective DiNozzo had caught a case. A woman and her two teenage kids... twins... had suffered a vicious attack. The girl had survived, but the mother and the boy hadn't been quite so lucky. The kids' father had died when they were six years old and their mother had remarried two years later. It transpired that their step father had been beating the two children since they were nine years old. The family had moved from place to place, never staying too long to be noticed, both children moved schools regularly; it was easy to stay below the radar.

They had never caught Jennifer's stepfather. He had simply disappeared.

Tony had sat on Jennifer's hospital bed, almost afraid to talk to the 13 year old, worrying about how to approach such a delicate subject, when she had just opened her mouth and talked. He'd been surprised at how easily it came out; how easily she had opened up to him. He thought it would have taken a lot more reassurance and persuasion on his part to get her just to acknowledge what had happened. As it was, she had talked openly, calmly; a degree of acceptance and forgiveness in her tone. It was too heavy a burden for a 13 year old, especially one whose mother and brother had just been beaten to death in front of her by a man who was supposed to nurture, protect and guide her. Tony had found it hard to understand. Jennifer was just a child. She was hurting, and yet she appeared to forgive the man with such ease. He had wondered whether it was a front, a kind of Stockholm syndrome. After all, he knew all about that; justification, putting on a front.

Jennifer had told him that her step father had told her and her brother many times that they were bad children. That they were liars, worthless, and their mother had hated having them around because they reminded her of their father all of which had made her unhappy. He had said that they were a nuisance and that they shouldn't ever make their mother unhappy. It was then that he would hit them, all the while telling them - never yelling or screaming - just telling them that no one would believe them if they told. Nobody believed bad children who lied all the time.

"_Jennifer, you're a good kid. You haven't done anything wrong. You've not lied to me," Tony said, looking into her pain-laden hazel eyes._

_It had been more of a statement but Jennifer responded, "No... I don't lie, Detec...Tony."_

Tony had seen the flash of fear behind her eyes when she'd spoken. He'd known then that she'd never lied. How could she have lied, when she'd never been given the opportunity to talk? Tony had also known that, given time, Jennifer would heal both physically and emotionally - although it might take slightly longer for the emotional scars to fade. Jennifer and her brother, Simon, hadn't been bad kids. They hadn't been worthless.

"_Jennifer, you're not worthless. Never forget that, okay." _

She wasn't worthless.

He was not worthless.

_Worthless. _

_DiNozzo Senior walked into the study and sighed impatiently, "Where's my drink Anthony?" _

"_Just getting it, Dad."_

_Tony opened the doors and walked into the small room off from his father's study. It was a tiny space, not really useful for working in but enough for a small storage area. Apparently, it had once been a small panic room, but the previous owners had decommissioned it. Now it was just a small storage recess. But his father had found a novel use for it. It was the place where he kept his most precious stock of drinking whiskey and bourbon. _

_Swiftly walking up to the small table where his father kept his decanters, glasses and ice, the teen put two ice cubes into a crystal tumbler, removed the top from the decanter and, lifting the heavy vessel, poured three fingers of amber liquid from the decanter into the leaded glass. He began to replace the decanter back onto the tray. How it happened; he had no idea. He just knew that one minute the decanter was in his hands, the next minute it wasn't. Seconds later Tony was looking down at the hundreds of pieces of crystal on the floor, glistening drops of amber adorning each one and a larger pool of the liquid slowly soaking into the Persian carpet._

"_Anthony! What the hell..." his father shouted from the doorway._

_Tony spun around blurting out the only words appropriate, "I'm sorry."_

_Shoving him roughly out of the way, DiNozzo Senior surveyed the damage, dropping down to gather a few shards of crystal glass in his hand, and then turned to face him. "Do you know how much that cost?" _

_He had a fair idea. "No Sir." _

"_The decanter... it... it was made from the finest crystal; commissioned especially for your grandfather, for the DiNozzo family," the man bellowed, gripping the fragments of glass tightly as he began to stand tall. "And you, you pathetic, worthless piece of crap, you destroy it in the blink of an eye, just like you're destroying this family, just like you destroyed your mother," DiNozzo Senior yelled, throwing the pieces of glass at his son's feet. _

"_I'm sorry," Tony replied, flinching. He waited as his father reached to the side of the table for two napkins. The man's right hand was bleeding from where he'd gripped the fragments of glass too tightly. _

_DiNozzo Senior wrapped one of the napkins around his right hand. Tiny red dots appeared though the white cotton and progressively grew in size. He threw the other napkin at Tony, who didn't attempt to catch it, but let it hit him and fall to the floor in a crumpled heap._

"_Clean this mess up!" his father ordered and walked out. _

_As Tony stooped to pick up the napkin, he heard the doors close and the key turning in the lock. He wasn't surprised when he heard his father utter his favourite words of the day from the other side of the locked door. "Worthless piece of crap."_

He stood alone.

Yeah, his father knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. Tony had paid the price and now valued nothing where his father was concerned. His father had told him he was a worthless piece of crap... told him many times that he'd never amount to anything; that he'd end up in the gutter. It wasn't true; he knew that. There was no way he'd let that happen; but just occasionally something... a word... an action... something would trigger those memories and feelings to return and he couldn't help but let them consume him. Without the energy or willpower to fight them off immediately, his mask would slip leaving him exposed, open to those around him.

That wasn't going to happen again. Control was important; vital. It was embarrassing, especially for someone usually so in control of the image they portrayed to be so out of control. He didn't like how it felt. He needed and liked control. He didn't like getting so angry that he lost it. He didn't like feeling pathetic and weak. He didn't like it when he couldn't keep the unpleasant memories from resurfacing.

He didn't like remembering that feeling he'd experienced when his father had called him 'worthless'.

The last time that had happened and he'd lost it had been about six months into his time at NCIS.

They'd had a tip-off that a fair amount of money and narcotics had been changing hands on the USS SeaHawk. These had not been the small amounts that were usually seen in instances of drug dealing aboard vessels; the amounts they'd found would have certainly been enough to supply a crew of five thousand easily. The Petty Officer they'd caught supplying and dealing on the SeaHawk had been persuaded to help NCIS bring down the off-ship suppliers. He'd given them the location where he picked up the drugs and dropped his cash off, but he had never met the contact he'd bought the drugs from. NCIS had staked out the location, waited and observed. The contact had been one of many go betweens; Tony had been tasked with trailing one of the endless middle men involved when events had taken an unfortunate turn. He had been supposed to gather intelligence only. "No engagement," had been the order from Gibbs. Tony had parked the car, followed the man - known as Parks - for a mile or so on foot when his target had arrived at a warehouse. Maybe if he had called in then and reported to Gibbs, events would have run slightly smoother. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

Instead, Tony had followed Parks into the warehouse, intent on getting as much background intelligence as he could before calling Gibbs to update him. He had positioned himself behind a selection of crates so that he had a perfect view of his target and the next guy up the food chain, and had called Gibbs to report in. Blackadder had answered. Tony had quickly whispered the address, told her to pass on the details to their team leader and had then hung up. When he saw the deal go down fifteen minutes later, everything happened so fast... too fast.

_Tony saw Parks turn to leave. What Parks didn't see was the iron bar hurtling towards the back of his head hitting him with a resounding 'crack' - he went down hard. The NCIS agent reacted instinctively, manoeuvring out from behind the crates, withdrawing his Sig, announcing himself and waiting for a response. He hadn't even had time to get a shot off before the other man flew at him, knocking the firearm from his hand. _

_He did, however, see the other man's sneer as his fist connected solidly with Tony's jaw. As the agent stumbled backwards falling and hitting the concrete floor heavily, the other man advanced on him, not letting up. Tony felt another blast of pain across his face and could see the man withdrawing his arm ready for another powerful blow. Rolling to the side he heard a howl as the man's fist smashed into the concrete floor. That was his cue. Within a split second the agent had straddled the man, pinning him face down on the hard, cold floor and held his other arm painfully high behind his back._

"_Other arm, behind your back." When the man didn't move, Tony spat the blood from his mouth and applied a little pressure to the one arm he held behind the man's back. "Arm, Now!" he snarled. When the guy yelled and obliged, Tony cuffed him. Backup arrived just as Tony began to haul the guy to his feet._

"_One down, over there," Tony pre-empted Gibbs, nodding towards the 'out-cold' Parks lying on the warehouse floor._

_Gibbs stopped dead when he saw them. "Blackadder, get the EMTs here. Dobbs, take this one to the car."_

_Tony relinquished his hold on the guy. Gibbs didn't look happy. He wasn't._

_He stood alone._

Because of the delay in calling in, Gibbs and Blackadder had lost time in assembling and engaging the necessary back up. Tony had personally ended up with a couple of smacks in the face leaving him with a black eye and a busted lip; and to top that, the suspect's lawyer had questioned whether any of the evidence they had subsequently taken from the scene was admissible because of a misleading statement on the hastily completed warrant. That was when he had found himself in Director Morrow's office, Gibbs at his side, explaining to a very pissed Morrow what had happened.

He stood with Gibbs.

"_Luckily Legal has it covered. You should thank them for that." Morrow's voice dropped low and serious, the warning glaringly obvious, "I don't want to see you in this office again. Is that clear, Special Agent DiNozzo?"_

"_Yes Sir," Tony replied staring straight ahead._

"_Gibbs," Morrow kept his eyes on the younger of the two men._

"_Sir?"_

"_Keep a tighter rein on your... team," he said clipping his words. Morrow then shifted his attention to the older of the two men. "No more warnings, next time it won't just be your agent in the firing line." _

"_Wouldn't have it any other way," Gibbs replied nonchalantly. "Sir."_

"_Dismissed Agent Gibbs; Agent DiNozzo."_

_Gibbs walked out of the office, Tony following close on his heels. They had almost reached the mezzanine when Tony spoke._

"_Well, that went better than expected."_

"_Ya think, DiNozzo."_

"_Well yeah... thought I'd get canned after that."_

_Gibbs turned and Tony found himself being backed up against the wall outside MTAC._

_The low hum of the machines and monitors on the other side of the wall seemed to reverberate through him. Tony could 'feel' the electricity; at least that was what he thought it was. His adrenaline was still pumping from having just 'taken one' from the Director no less, and now Gibbs was in his face. A very short-tempered and 'about to blow his top' Gibbs._

'_Well yeah... thought I'd get canned after that.'_

'_What the...? Had he heard that right?' Gibbs turned and glared, advancing on the junior agent as he began backing up against the wall outside MTAC. He couldn't understand how DiNozzo could be so blasé about the whole situation. Tony may have earned the right to a formal dressing down by the Director and may even have earned the right to act unconcerned about it in front of the Director, but what the hell made DiNozzo think that he could pull that kind of crap with him?_

"_You think Morrow is all you need to worry about? When will you get it into that head of yours that we work as a team, DiNozzo. Team. Rule 15. You should have called for backup 'before' going in. What the hell were you thinking?"_

"_Actually I was thinking Rule 18 Boss... I didn't have time to..."_

_Gibbs would have stepped closer if he could have, but he was already within an inch of Tony's face. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height. "If you had time to think about Rule 18, you had time to call. Don't give me that crap. What about the warrant? That was sloppy, DiNozzo. Blackadder's too green. It could have been worthless; could have cost us the investigation. You ever think about that?"_

_The change in his junior field agent was instantaneous. Gibbs had barely finished his verbal tongue lashing when Tony withdrew and paled instantly, trapped before him._

"_I'm a pathetic, worthless piece of crap," the agent whispered, looking down at the floor, deliberately not meeting his glare. "I don't know why you just don't fire me."_

_When the words emerged from the agent's mouth, Gibbs swore it was not Tony. Where was his fight? His zest? His spirit? Where was the fiery, ill-advised come back that he'd witnessed only moments earlier? Where was DiNozzo? Gibbs took a step back. "I will… if I ever hear you talk like that again, DiNozzo," he rebuked. "Desk. Go. Not another word."_

_Gibbs stood watching from the mezzanine as his agent almost fell down the stairs in his haste to get out from under his stare and back to the safety of his own desk._

_As Tony hurried down the stairs and approached his chair, one word dominated his thoughts, 'Worthless.' The squad room may be open plan but sitting at his desk, he felt just as trapped as he had been that day his father had locked him in the little room off from the study._

Yep. Tight, dark spaces. He really liked them, a lot.

A vibration and a beep from his cell brought him back sharply from his thoughts.

Fishing for the small device on the left side of his belt, he rubbed his eyes with his free hand and then checked his messages.

It was from Abby. They'd won their quarter-final game and were through to the bowling semi-finals. A broad grin spread across his face as he started to compose his reply. Thirty seconds of frantic finger action later he pressed the send button and then waited for the confirmatory 'message sent' response to appear on his cell.

"DiNozzo."

Tony almost dropped the cell. "Yeah, Boss?" he muttered quickly, watching as Gibbs sat down at his desk. The man was angry; no doubt about that from the thunderous expression Gibbs was wearing, and Tony braced himself as Gibbs's frustration began to boil over, getting the better of the team leader.

"DiNozzo... get him..." Gibbs ordered. "I want Webb in here. He knew... he knew Reynolds had been beaten. I want to know why he didn't tell us and what else he's been holding back."

"I'll call Watson."

Tony reached for his handset. _How did Gibbs know? He hadn't told him about the marks. Unless... Ducky must have... but when...?_

"Tony," Gibbs sighed impatiently.

_What the hell had he done now?_ Stifling his own sigh, Tony turned, deliberately slowly, to face Gibbs. "Boss?"

"What are these?" Gibbs was holding up the reports that Tony had left on his desk earlier.

"The SWOT analysis reports."

"Why are there only six, DiNozzo?" Gibbs had risen from his chair and had started to walk around his desk towards Tony. "We closed more than six cases in Q3."

"Fifteen..."

Tony braced himself when he saw Gibbs's hand twitch.

"I'm on the others now..."

Gibbs was giving him the hard stare and even though he counteracted with his own glare, foolishly some might say, he knew he wasn't going to win against it.

"Well... when I said now, I meant after I've called Watson to get Webb in here..." he pointed at the phone receiver. "That was what you wanted, right?" Tony added sarcastically.

Gibbs took a step closer towards Tony.

"You'll have the rest by 17:00 tomorrow, Boss."

"17:00 tomorrow. Tony, you are not getting out of that list."

Tony felt the anger rise from deep within him and tried to control it. "What makes you think I'm trying to get out of anything, _Sir_?"

The two men locked eyes in silent battle. He wasn't trying to get out of anything but he _was_ seriously pissed with Gibbs thinking he was trying to get out of things. His boss knew him better than that. _Why was Gibbs baiting him?_

He would _not_ get angry with Gibbs. He would _not_ take his anger out on those close to him. His father had been there, done that and there was no way in hell he was going to turn into his father. Losing control was not an option; not here, not now. There was a time and a place for releasing his anger. That place was in front of the punch bag in the gym and the time would be later.

Tony's jaw locked shut but the green-eyed silent acceptance of his boss's confirmed deadline yielded a tiny but welcome softening in Gibbs's own blue-eyed stare.

Swallowing his anger, Tony focused on calling Webb's CO whilst Gibbs turned back to his desk to grab his jacket before heading out of the squad room.

* * *

Sister Rosita looked at the Goth girl with the black pigtails, collar, cuffs, war paint, big welcoming eyes and cheery smile and found herself wondering how she had ever agreed to their fortnightly bowling sessions, let alone clubbing on a regular basis. The girl had taken her completely by surprise on that one.

Appearances could be deceptive though, on both counts. She didn't think Abigail would have been interested in her or her fellow nuns' escapades, but they had struck up a conversation about a year ago after she and Abby had been involved in a shopping trolley pile up. A watermelon had escaped from Abby's trolley and rolled down the aisle into a small stack of canned dog food. Fortunately the stack remained upright but Abby had still yelled out 'Strike' to a bemused, small but growing audience. Sister Rosita had made a remark about the watermelon needing 'slightly more spin' and the rest, as they say, was history.

She told Abby she had bowled before she became a nun but not anymore. Abby had wanted to know why she didn't bowl anymore, and when Sister Rosita hadn't given her a good enough reason, Abby had invited her bowling that very evening. She'd accepted, not wanting to let the girl down, but when they'd met later and she'd seen how Abby had connected with the others, she'd berated herself for allowing herself to judge a book by its cover. They had been bowling together now for about eight months; in the league for six. Their friendship had grown even more quickly than their bowling skills had - and their bowling skills had improved a lot. They still had a great deal of work to do if they were going to win the final, but they definitely had a good chance... not that winning mattered to her anyway. She really just enjoyed Abigail's company. The girl was a breath of fresh air and they would do anything for each other. When Sister Rosita had a problem with the electrics, she'd call Abby. When Abigail needed a place to stay, like the time the guy in the apartment above her had a burst pipe and all the water ran down the walls into her apartment, Abby stayed with them. In fact, Abigail had stayed almost a week whilst her landlord had redecorated the apartment.

People like Abigail... or 'Abby', as she kept reminding herself... were rare in this world and she counted herself lucky to be considered one of the girl's friends. She almost considered praying that Abby's apartment would flood again so that she could have the pleasure of her company for another week. But that would be wrong... for a nun. Smiling, Sister Rosita looked at the Goth girl on the dance floor, weaving in and out of the other nuns and hugging each one in turn. They looked so happy. They were always happy around her. Abby had that knack with people; she could bring others out of their darkness. All of that concerned her somewhat; Abby often seemed to take on too much of other people's pain. If something was wrong, Abby often felt the need to fix it and if she couldn't fix it right away, she started to worry and stress herself too much.

As the cell she was holding for Abby began to vibrate, Sister Rosita tried to attract the Goth's attention but to no avail. Abby was deeply engrossed in the tuneful beat of the music playing in the club. Smiling, Sister Rosita clasped the phone tightly in her hands and vowed to let Abigail dance and enjoy herself a little while longer; sometimes technology could interrupt the most precious of moments.

* * *

She had been watching the proceedings unfold before her. Gibbs had headed for the elevator. DiNozzo had made the call and was now sifting through files.

She had only come in to retrieve her glasses. Unable to find her spare pair at home, she'd made the journey to the Navy Yard, knowing it would be more economical on her time as she knew exactly where, in her office, she'd left them. She'd stayed for a while and was about to go home when she'd heard the familiar raised voice coming from the squad room. The mezzanine above the squad room was an excellent vantage point from which to observe all her agents.

"Jen, what are you doing here?" Gibbs asked softly as he joined her side to look over the railings down at his agent in the squad room below.

"Glasses" she replied, holding up her right hand to reveal an expensive looking pair. "You punishing him, Jethro?"

"He needs... reminding of where his place is, Jen."

"Hmm, I seem to remember you doing the same thing to me, right before I got my own team."

"This is different, Jen. Maybe."

"Does he know? Of course he doesn't," Sheppard sighed. "How's he doing?"

"He's handling it."

"That what you said about me, Jethro?" she replied, quizzically raising an eyebrow.

"Don't remember doing much talking?" he retorted, sporting a growing smirk as he turned to face her.

"Hmm. I want those Q3 closed case reports summarised and ready for audit by zero nine hundred Monday, Agent Gibbs."

"Zero nine hundred, Monday, Director," Gibbs acknowledged as Sheppard headed back towards her office.

_Not going to be a problem at all_, he mused as he leant against the railings and observed DiNozzo in the squad room below. _No problem at all._

TBC...

* * *

**A/N** - Well, we've reached the halfway mark (I think).

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 3 - Refuelling.**

_The other man broke eye contact with Gibbs and sighed. "Knew I should have brought McColl instead of SA3."_

"_Who?" Cheney asked._

"_McColl. He knows about this stuff."_

"_Stuff."_

"_Not important. You know what a quantum mirror is?"_

"_A what?" Gibbs stepped closer to the man and glared._

"_Me neither. Parallel universe?" The puzzled expression from Cheney and upped intensity of glare from Gibbs told the other man everything he needed to know. "Forget it. Don't ask me to explain. I'd lose myself at reflection. Look, all you need to know is that I'm from a parallel universe."_

"_Hmm," Gibbs didn't believe a word of it. "Ya get refills in this parallel universe of yours?" The Styrofoam cup was yanked out of his hand and before he could retaliate, the other man had whipped the plastic tops off both Gibbs's and his own drinks and had topped up Gibbs's with coffee from his own cup. The plastic top was replaced and the cup offered back to him._

"_Cut the bastard routine Gibbs." _

_Gibbs licked his lips and his eyes narrowed until they were two small slits._

_TBC..._

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	6. Sunday, 01:30 EST

**A/N - **Thanks to everyone for reading and for all your comments and PMs. Work has been stupidly busy this past week and I'm a bit behind with replying - my apologies for that.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 6 – Sunday, 01:30 EST**

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Gibbs, having reviewed the SWOT reports Tony had completed, had long since gone, presumably back to his basement for a shot of bourbon and maybe to work on his boat. The interview with Webb had been arranged for Sunday afternoon as the recruits were currently on a night exercise and wouldn't be back until the morning. Tony had analysed another three files but he needed a break; his eyes sore from all the reading. It was also late, or rather it was the 'wee hours', as Ducky often called them, of Sunday morning.

Feeling the knowing pangs of hunger, Tony knew he had a candy bar in his drawer that would give him some much needed energy. By the time he'd gotten around to lunch he'd lost his appetite, but now his stomach was growling vociferously; roaring even. Not eating anything since leaving his apartment the previous morning tended to do that to one Anthony D DiNozzo. DiNozzos got hungry. He was also tired beyond belief.

Yawning, Tony fumbled for his keys, unlocked his desk drawer and was about to search for the candy when he saw _it_.

The neatly folder piece of paper that he'd put in there the day before. It stared back at him, willing him to pick it up, unfold it and unearth the secrets contained within.

He knew he shouldn't but he had to do it. Tony desperately wanted to know what that piece of paper said; what _he'd_ said. Biting his lower lip, Tony reached for the piece of paper, set it down on the desk in front of him and unfolded it.

After a brief hesitation, he began to read.

* * *

_**CONFIDENTIAL - STAFF**_

_**...**_

_**Assessment: Suitability for Promotion to Team Leader Status**_

_**...**_

_**Name: Anthony D. DiNozzo**_

_**Current Status:**__ Senior Field Agent (Active)_

_**Location:**__ MCRT, Washington D.C._

_**Supervisory Team Leader:**__ L. J. Gibbs_

_**...**_

_**Rating Scale:**_

_5 – Excellent_

_4 – Good_

_3 – Satisfactory_

_2 – Poor_

_1 – Unacceptable_

_N/A – Not applicable_

_**...**_

_**General Competencies (Rating)**_

_Leadership: 3-4_

_Team working: 4_

_Critical thinking: 4-5_

_Communication skills: 4_

_Decision making: 4_

_Resource Management/ budgets: 3-4_

_**...**_

_**Specific Competencies (Rating)**_

_Interview/ Interrogation Skills: 4_

_Investigative Skills (inc. Crime Scene Analysis/ Documentary): 4-5_

_Evidence and Pattern Analysis: 4_

_Surveillance assignments: 4_

_Undercover assignments: 4-5_

_Close protection assignments: 4 _

_Reporting (Oral/Written): 4_

_Other (Legal; specialist IT; give details): N/A_

_**...**_

_**Team Leader/Supervisor comments**_

_Special Agent DiNozzo has worked in the MCRT under my direction for the past four years. Joining the team as a Junior Field Agent, Special Agent DiNozzo rose to the rank of Senior Field Agent six months ago, although he has been my second in command for just over three and a half years. When focused, Special Agent DiNozzo is completely committed and brings a unique perspective to any investigation. He has a sharp mind, excellent attention to detail and has, on a number of occasions, spotted the crucial link that has broken a difficult case. His crime scene skills, reporting and particularly his close protection and undercover work are first class. _

_Special Agent DiNozzo can, at times, lack discipline. He has led the team on several occasions and has always acted professionally and competently during those cases. However, he needs to have greater confidence in his own decision-making when it comes to leading his team members. I believe this will come with time. _

_**Recommendation:**__ Not recommended._

_I have no doubts at all that Special Agent DiNozzo will make a strong team leader in the future. However, he needs time to develop his leadership role and therefore I am not recommending him for promotion at this stage._

_**...**_

_**Name of Assessor: **__L. J. Gibbs_

_**Date:**__ October 4, 2005_

...

* * *

Had he read that right? Quickly scanning the form again to confirm the words he thought he'd seen, his immediate reaction was one of shock. Gibbs hadn't recommended him for promotion. _Bastard._ What had he done wrong? Even though he'd worked his ass off it still wasn't good enough... he'd never be good enough. His father was right. Anthony DiNozzo let people down. He'd let Gibbs down, and he hated letting Gibbs down.

_Special Agent DiNozzo can, at times, lack discipline. _

_Why did everything have to come down to that?_ Sure, it was fair and he knew how much his finely crafted joker act pissed Gibbs, but he also knew how much his Boss valued it too. Many an unsuspecting perp had bought into his idiocy act; dismissed him; put him down; proceeded to overplay their hand only to end up being snared by 'dumb DiNozzo' and left wondering how the 'idiot boy with the gregarious grin' had managed to get one over on them. It was an art form; a precarious balance of knowing just how much to push, and when to pull back. Sometimes, especially with the team, he went just that little bit too far... and Gibbs would respond with one of his usual calming methods. However, his goofing off act was a defining part of him; also a form of stress relief, and he wasn't going to be able to do much about it overnight. Not tonight anyway.

_Why did it always come down to that? _

_Lack of discipline._

Just as he was about to screw the form into a little ball and throw it in the trash, a little voice in his head stopped him.

_Anthony, it's not that bad_. _Look at your ratings._

His ratings were really good. Gibbs wasn't one for giving praise; he preferred the stick rather than the carrot approach to incentivising his team. It worked too. Six months in, with a plethora of 3s and N/As after his first performance review as a probationary agent, he'd seriously doubted he'd ever get a '3-4' let alone a '4-5'. He knew he'd probably never get that elusive '5'. Gibbs held that power over him daily and it was what kept him on his toes, but he was damned if he was going to be defeatist. He'd frickin' well try - even if he had to die before he got a '5'.

Something bugged him about the whole thing though. Why had Gibbs completed a promotion assessment form on him? Tony hadn't even put in for a promotion. Why the hell would he? He'd only been senior field agent for six months back then. Surely he couldn't be expected to go from senior field agent to team leader in six months... could he? That was unheard off.

Could he be a team leader? Did he want to be a team leader? Being a team leader meant he'd have to boss people about; drink seventeen cups of coffee a day; whack his people on the back of the head; get three ex-wives; stop renting his apartment and buy a house with a basement. That didn't sound too bad... apart from the 'ex-wives' and 'buy a house with a basement' bit.

On the other hand, being a team leader also meant more ass kissing; umpteen meetings; conferences; a lot more work and shouldering all the responsibility. He'd have responsibility for all the agents on his team.

Tony was beginning to understand that responsibility now, especially towards McGee and even Ziva to some extent. It wasn't the same as having someone's back, six, whatever people called it. It was the responsibility of knowing when to put someone in a position where you'd have to have their back; it was the responsibility that came with knowing that you could send an agent into a seemingly innocent situation which could easily end up doing a '180'.

Running a hand across his face and easing the ache behind his tired eyes, Tony was also beginning to shoulder the weight of that responsibility; realising a little more how, maybe, Gibbs felt when he sent 'them' out on seemingly innocent situations. Gibbs seemed to bear that burden in his stride. _Years of marine training, _Tony mused.

It was a responsibility that Tony hadn't handled very well a few months back. Kate had been shot and he hadn't been able to stop it. He'd also sent Paula to call Gibbs only for her to end up being kidnapped. But _he_ hadn't killed Kate and _he_ hadn't kidnapped Paula. Those things hadn't been his fault.

He knew that.

He knew that now.

Even though the burden of responsibility had and continued to weigh heavily on his shoulders, he was beginning to handle it more productively.

_He needs to have greater confidence in his own decision-making when it comes to leading his team members._

Gibbs had left him in charge of the scene and he'd sent Paula back to the truck on her own. Back in the squad room, he'd agonised over whether he'd made the right decision. Looking at it cold, now, he knew it had been the right decision. But that wasn't the point. He needed to _be_ confident... _have_ confidence... in the decisions he made before he gave an order.

_DiNozzo can, at times, lack discipline. _

It always came down to his lack of discipline. Yawning loudly, Tony leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. His eyes closed for just a brief moment...

* * *

_Looking out of the car window, Tony surveyed the passing streets. It was late but not dark; the orange glow of the street lights never allowing complete darkness in the city. His partner, Mike, was subdued and not sparring verbally with him as they made their way back to Baltimore from D.C., so he'd filled the journey with references of movie road trips. He was in the middle of one when Mike finally interrupted his monologue._

"_Tony," Mike interjected, "next time you want to sound off at 'Metro's main man', check the Captain hasn't just walked in with a slippery Fed in tow. I don't like spending my Friday night transferring a suspect... the suspect that we have just tailed day and night for two very long weeks, I'd like to remind you... into the frickin' FBI's hands."_

"_Hey, Collins was pissing me off with his act. You heard him, all 'butter wouldn't melt' in front of the Captain and then as soon as his back is turned he's out with the snide comments, mislaid messages and personal punches." Tony's right hand reflexively rubbed at his gut. "Good luck to his next partner... you saw what he was doing to Greg... and no one... no one calls me a 'useless' wanker..."_

"_You are," Mike interrupted, "a wanker that is."_

"_Okay, sometimes yeah. I'll give you that," Tony agreed, "still doesn't give him the right to..."_

"_Tony, you don't ream out a senior detective in front of the rest of the team and not expect some redress from the guy." Mike glanced briefly at Tony before continuing, "Besides, it shut you up before you could do any more damage. Look, Tony, you've got to stop this. You're a smart guy. Collins... Collins has the best arrest record and clear up rate in Metro. He's good at what he does, he's..."_

"_An ass!"_

"_He's okay. Captain pushed hard to get Metro to agree to a joint op on this one... and yes the Captain thinks the sun shines out of his ass... and so does Eleanor." _

"_Ellie doesn't think..." Tony changed his tack when Mike glanced over at him from behind the wheel. "Okay maybe she does. But she's coming around... think she might even..."_

"_Drop it Tony. Jeez you never shut your frickin' mouth, do you? No wonder..." Mike tailed off._

"_What? No wonder what, Mike?" _

_A painful silence ensued as Tony tried to gauge what it was that Mike had been about to say but hadn't. He could hazard a guess though and turned his head, simultaneously wiping a hand across the passenger window allowing a more intense glow of orange into the car._

"_It was my wedding anniversary yesterday," Mike said softly. "Not a big one, but Jan and I... well... we were... tonight... you know... it was supposed to be cocktails, meal, wine, a little dance, cab home, a little more wine..."_

_Tony closed his eyes and swallowed. "I'm sorry, Mike," he said, turning to look at his partner._

"_What the hell..." Mike braked hard and the car skidded to a stop. The sincere apology fell on deaf ears. Tony braced himself whilst following Mike's line of vision to a young twenty something girl running out of a side street, yelling. Her T-shirt was stained deep red matching the swathes of red on her arms which she waved frantically. _

_He was already out of the car, half-way up to her, his weapon drawn. She was screaming but unhurt. Someone up ahead shouted 'Gun' and he heard Mike racing behind him, calling in for back up. In the distance he saw the shooter taking aim at the girl and he grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him. "Car... behind... Go!" Tony ordered._

"_Police! Lower your weapon!" he shouted, levelling his gun at the man in the distance._

_The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the cold night. _

TBC...

* * *

**A/N** - So I figured that if anyone got below a 3 they'd be off Gibbs's team.

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 4 - Allies?**

_The aroma of a reasonably strong blend of coffee softened his tension and Gibbs accepted the makeshift refill, taking in a long slow glug. "Not bad. How do you know?" _

_The man opposite him let his eyes drift to Cheney. "I've met him before."_

"_I don't think so." Cheney huffed._

_Gibbs nodded knowingly at the man who openly smirked in front of him. The stranger addressed Cheney and continued. "Two ex-wives. You can't survive on less than 10 coffees a day. You live for your job. Your right hand man is Italian and your Probie prefers a PC to a P228... want more?"_

"_Actually it's three ex-wives. At least 12 coffees. Probie's getting better but yeah, Monteleone is Italian and I like taking the scum off the streets." Cheney replied. "How?"_

"_Hmm, met you... well your doppelganger, Lieutenant Craney, a year ago. We worked a case together. He only had two ex-wives. His Probie was pretty green and Montanelli couldn't keep his eyes off..." the Boss hesitated, "couldn't keep his eyes off Agent Dodd."_

"_Hey," Gibbs raised his Styrofoam cup and threw the other man a soft smile. "Like to know who I'm accepting coffee from."_

"_My team call me Boss."_

_Cheney laughed and Gibbs snorted. "If you think I'm..."_

"_Wouldn't dream of it, Gibbs. Listen, I'll tell you but..." the Boss raised a warning finger, "if either of you tell SA3 what my name is - parallel universe or not - I will hunt you down..."_

"_SA3?" _

"_His equivalent of Monteleone and DiNozzo," Gibbs clarified for Lieutenant Cheney._

"_Right... another one... and how many of these 'parallel' universes are there?"_

"_No idea," the Boss shrugged. "McColl thinks it's infinite."_

"_So how do you get back?" Cheney asked._

"_Again, no idea... slapped McColl when he started talking about worms and gates. Not a big gardener. Prefer open water myself. No point worrying though. Apparently parallel universe shifts only ever last for 42 minutes."_

_Gibbs and Cheney shot each other a quick glance. "Name."_

_The Boss sighed heavily. "Thought you'd forgotten about that."_

_TBC..._

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	7. Sunday, 04:30 EST

**A/N - **Once again, thanks for reading, reviewing and PMing.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 7 – Sunday, 04:30 EST**

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_Tony felt himself falling. The force had sent him down hard. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but he'd expected more pain than this. He was breathing hard; his breath clearly visible as small wispy clouds against the cold night air. From where he lay on the ground he could see two people down; one lifeless girl and another guy clutching at his thigh, blood pouring from between his fingers. Tiny pieces of grit dug into his left palm and the fingers of his right hand which were still wrapped tightly around his own firearm. He heard the footsteps of someone walking calmly towards him. There should be more pain. As he tried to move he found he could, quite easily; and there was no pain. The footsteps were closing on him and he heard someone laughing. Turning to look at the source of the noise, Tony reacted instinctively when he saw the man levelling a gun at his head._

_The shooter went down. Two shots to the head from Tony's gun. Dead. _

_Tony physically shook; whether from fear, relief or adrenalin overload he wasn't sure. All he knew was that the perp was down and he himself hadn't been shot. The noise of his own gunfire still rang painfully in his ears, but he didn't care; he hadn't been shot. "Mike... he didn't get me. I'm okay, Mike," he managed to call out. "Mike?"_

_Detective Mike Foster had been Tony's second partner at Baltimore. Detective Mike Foster had been a friend. Detective Mike Foster had died saving Tony's life. _

_In the line of duty. _

His Captain's words startled him back from nightmare number 23 to consciousness. Tony jolted forward in his seat, arms flailing wildly while sending several case files hurtling to the floor beside his desk. Running a hand across his face and rubbing his sore eyes, Tony abruptly took in the sound and touch of his surroundings. A low hum signified air conditioning and he could feel the gentle heat from his desk lamp. Opening his eyes fully, he realised he'd fallen asleep in his chair and he was alone in the squad room.

_In the line of duty. _

His Captain's words echoed in his thoughts again. The nightmare always ended with those words.

Mike and Tony had both received commendations. Jan had accepted on behalf of Mike. But Tony, as much as he liked recognition, wanted it, strived for it even... well, it was one commendation he had desperately wanted to refuse. Politics had dictated otherwise. He'd wanted to shove that commendation in a box; ship it out, cut it off from the rest of the world... let it float away never to be found. He'd hated that commendation. It hadn't been earned and Tony didn't _think_ he deserved it - knew he didn't. His first thoughts had been relief that he'd not been shot. Where had his concern for his partner been? He'd done nothing to protect Mike, and Mike had done everything... given everything to protect him. Mike had died pushing him out of the line of fire. Mike should never have had to do that. Mike wouldn't even have been there if it wasn't for him.

It was his lack of discipline that had killed Mike.

If he hadn't lacked self control, he wouldn't have shot his mouth off at Collins. The Captain wouldn't have overheard and they wouldn't have been the ones ordered to transfer the suspect to D.C. that Friday night. They wouldn't have been driving back late. Mike wouldn't have seen the girl. They wouldn't have stopped. He wouldn't have gotten himself in the line of fire and Mike wouldn't have died saving him.

He stood alone.

Some of the guys back at the station had tried to placate him with an abundance of sympathy, empathy and empty platitudes. _How many others might have died if you hadn't been there to take him down? It wasn't your fault. Mike knew the danger. You were doing your job. Wrong time, wrong place. He died doing a job he loved. _

Some of the other guys' comments hadn't been quite as effectively moderated. He'd handled those a lot more easily.

It was supposed to be a great healer – Time. That was a load of crap. No one ever said how much time it took. A week? A month? A year? A lifetime?

Never?

The feelings, memories, guilt – they would always be there, no matter how much time had passed.

_Crap!_ How much time _had_ passed? The clock at the right hand corner of his monitor stated the time... 04.30. Tony swore. He should never have fallen asleep. There were still six more SWOT analysis reports to do before 17:00. He'd lost two hours and he couldn't guarantee how much _time_ he'd get to finish them once Gibbs arrived.

As Tony picked up the fallen files from off the floor and placed them back on his desk, his eyes were drawn to the piece of paper he'd read a few hours earlier. Gibbs's assessment had been fair and accurate. He hadn't been ready. Cursing, for the second time in under two minutes, Tony took the form, folded it in half and placed it securely in his jacket pocket._ Why did the bastard always have to be right?_

Hunger gripped the senior field agent and he hunted in his drawer for his candy bar. Once located, Tony ripped it open, stuffed the whole bar in his mouth, chewed and threw the wrapper in the trash. Sleep taken care of and hunger abated, Tony stood up, retrieved one of the clean shirts he'd put in the cabinet behind him the previous day, and headed for the showers down in the gym.

* * *

Abby had partied hard after winning the match and, as was customary practice, Sister Rosita and her charges had all gone to the club with her. They had danced their way through the invisible, but nonetheless still present, tiredness barrier until Sister Rosita had ordered the girls to 'hustle up' and suggested they ought to head back before the date changed. Abby had protested when they'd told her to carry on without them but they'd insisted she stay and enjoy herself. There was absolutely no possibility of going against the words of Sister Rosita, so she'd stayed for an hour and then moved on to another club; one of her more regular haunts, had a few more drinks and danced with a couple of friends she'd met there before.

Slowly, carefully and with concentrated effort, Abby closed the front door to her apartment. She knew she was more than a little tipsy; the cab driver having almost refused to let her ride in his cab... that and the fact that the room was spinning faster than the centrifuge ever had done back in her lab.

_Abigail Sciuto... what would your mother say?_ Abby signed to herself, surprised when her fingers wouldn't move quite as quickly and deftly as they normally did. _You really need to lie down now._

Relieved that she wasn't working later in the day and knowing that her head and stomach would most definitely protest, she used all her concentration to walk the few metres into her front room.

Swaying slightly, Abby dropped her bowling bag on the wooden floor, hauled the backpack from her shoulders and threw it on the couch. She gasped as the loosely-tied pack spewed its contents across the floor and her couch. Her beloved cell clattered nosily on the floor boards, skidding to a halt underneath the table beside her couch. As she dropped on all fours and groped around under the table for her cell, she slipped; falling flat on her face, giggling. _Much better position_, she thought, her head spinning slightly less than before.

After a concerted effort, Abby had grabbed the cell and brought it close to her face squinting at the display, surprised at the number of messages she'd missed. Her fingers were all _hinky_ and, after struggling briefly to flip the cell open, she finally managed to navigate to the text messages and opened up the first.

_To: Sciuto, Abby _

_From: DiNozzo, Tony_

_Time: 19:57_

_Message: Way to go Abs, never doubted you for a min!_

_Tony._ The warmth that shone in her black-rimmed eyes matched that evident in the growing smile on her face. Ton... knee. "Ow!" Abby cried out as the studded collar that had escaped from her back pack and landed on the floor poked painfully into her knee. Shifting her right leg slightly, Abby relaxed, the warmth slowly leaving her eyes as she gave in to a mixture of tiredness and alcohol induced slumber.

* * *

Kate shook her head and stared at the girl lying prone on the wooden floor of the apartment. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was all to indicate her hold on life... well, that and the peaceful expression the girl wore. A rookie might have started shooting and sketching at the sight of the woman lying, unmoving, on the bare floorboards; cell grasped loosely in her hand, contents of her bag strewn across the floor and the couch. The immediate scene had all the outward appearances of a robbery gone wrong. Maybe the girl had interrupted an intruder? Perhaps she had tripped on her heels and fallen, cracking her head on the edge of the table? It was only through closer inspection that the presence of slow regular breathing, absence of any visible trauma to the girl and no signs of forced entry to the apartment revealed that the girl was actually very much alive and sleeping peacefully.

Abby used to sleep on the floor of her lab... still slept, she corrected quickly. Kate had to remind herself constantly that she was the one who was dead - not the others. She liked to keep an eye on her friends from time to time, especially Abby. It wasn't that she thought they couldn't take of themselves; they could. She just wanted to watch them. _A little voyeuristic, Caitlyn,_ she thought.

When she'd been alive, Kate had, albeit informally, personally profiled them all; for her own interest, satisfaction, amusement... she wasn't sure which, or why. In death, she was able to _feel_ and _see _them; observe as they went about their daily activities. Competitive by nature, and somewhat of a perfectionist, Kate wanted to know whether she had been right. She liked to watch them sleep, think, talk out loud to themselves. She had watched them laugh, smile, curse, cry and love... and she had watched them bowl, sand their boat, write, care for loved ones, run, dream, assimilate and remember.

Abby was her favourite. Her enthusiasm, fierce determination but sometimes childlike awe and innate nature of worrying about everyone except herself made her a frequent stop for Kate.

Gibbs was the most irritating to watch. Leaning back against the staircase in the basement, Kate eyed her former Boss; his hands firmly pressing sand paper to wood, going with the grain. Even in solitude, Gibbs seemed to hide his inner thoughts. He certainly never voiced them.

McGee was easier to read and perhaps the most calming of her friends to watch, despite his on-line role playing activities where he turned into some kind of mad man. Kate often joined him at weekends whilst he tapped away at his old typewriter. She loved to see that smile stretch across his face and the glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he found that angle or set of words that smashed through his frequent but rarely sustained writer's block.

Ducky was the most comforting to watch. Whether she observed as he was looking after his aged mother, gently guiding Jimmy Palmer in his work or attending to an unfortunate soul in autopsy; he never failed to make her feel welcome. It was the ease with which he cared and comforted. The ease with which he advised, and the ease with which he talked to his audience - live or dead. He was her grounding.

Tony, on the other hand, was the most disturbing. He worked, flirted, watched movies, took in the game, listened to music, ate take out, met up with his frat brothers, took the Mustang for a spin; all the things she had expected of him. What she hadn't seen before were the nightmares, punishing early morning runs, moments of self loathing and the intense pain behind the eyes of a more subdued Tony. That darkness and pain was evident in her partner's... ex partner's... eyes as, barefoot and shirtless, he let fly at the punch bag in the NCIS gym. At least this time he'd had the sense to wear gloves.

Always pleased to spy on Palmer, she had been shocked to find _him_ the most entertaining to watch. He was a guy with hidden talents, many he probably hadn't yet realised he had. First impressions had led her to think of him as a shy, insecure and naive young man. Shy, he most definitely wasn't; not out of work anyway, and young 'Jimmy' had surprised her on more than one occasion with his fortitude, awareness and intelligence.

Although she hadn't met Ziva or Jenny when she had been alive, she still elected to observe them too. They were part of the team she had belonged to. Always battling her emotions and guarding them tightly, opting to consider such outward displays as a sign of weakness, Ziva was the most interesting to watch. Director Sheppard confused her. Jenny had the authority and gravitas of any of her counterparts in the male-dominated upper echelons of law enforcement. She was the bright young thing; a genuine success story. Completely committed to the cause, and her agents, but, mixed in with that, Kate sensed a woman with an undisclosed mission and she vowed to keep a close eye on her.

That was what she should be doing to Abby now; keeping an eye on her. For a brief moment Kate was torn between leaving Tony and checking on Abby. However, with Tony fully engrossed in beating the wadding out of the punch bag, she found the dilemma easier to resolve than expected. Tony had the upper hand and she even pitied the punch bag. A second later, Kate had left the NCIS gym in favour of Abby's apartment.

* * *

After a twenty minute session with the punch bag in the gym and after taking a brief shower to rid himself of the sweat and effects of another all too common nightmare, Tony had stopped by the vending machine to grab an energy bar and a soda and had returned to the empty squad room. He'd completed another two SWOTs and surmised that if he could just finish his current one before Gibbs got in he could possibly manage the remainder before 17:00.

_Speaking of which, it had to be almost 07:00._ Glancing at his watch, he realised 07:00 had come and gone. _Where the hell was Gibbs?_ Gibbs was always in before 07:00, even on a weekend. Although it had given him a few extra minutes _sans_ stare or threat, and even though they weren't due to re-interview Webb until later that afternoon, Gibbs not being in still unnerved him. He cursed Gibbs for being Gibbs.

The ping from the elevator signalled that he'd spoken too soon. His suspicions were confirmed when Gibbs strode through the squad room and straight past Tony, refreshingly calm for a man who wasn't carrying a cup of coffee.

"You're late Gibbs. Thought we were working this shift together."

---

Gibbs forced himself not to turn back and whack the guy over the head. Only DiNozzo would have the nerve to say that. He was obviously pissed with him. _Good._ He wanted a pissed DiNozzo. It gave him an edge. Much better a pissed, self-assured, DiNozzo than a cowering, timorous one.

As he looked over at his senior field agent he could sense the man was obviously waging a war with himself, and he had a pretty good idea what it was about. He crooked a finger, motioning for Tony to stand in front of his desk.

_---_

_You're late Gibbs._ He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud. The guy hadn't had his caffeine hit yet. If Gibbs wasn't pissed enough already, he would be now. _Crap._ That energy bar hadn't done much for his flagging energy levels at all; he was dog tired and it just came out... he couldn't help it, and he _was_ just slightly annoyed at his Boss's relentless digs and ability to unnerve him.

Gibbs was beckoning him over. _Crap, crap and, oh yeah, crap!_ This didn't bode well. He knew the drill. Sighing, Tony prised himself from his chair, walked over to Gibbs's desk and stood front and centre staring into space.

"Something wrong, DiNozzo?"

Tony toyed with the idea of saying 'no' but Gibbs's voice was calm and relaxed. He was still sitting in his chair and when Tony glanced down he noticed that Gibbs had leaned back in his seat slightly, and he didn't _seem_ to be angry at all. That was unexpected. Momentarily at a loss for what to say, Tony searched his brain for the right words. Gibbs beat him to it.

"Well this _is_ a change," Gibbs smiled up at Tony. "Not sure I like it."

"I was thinking the same thing, Boss," he said collecting his thoughts and resuming his earlier stance of staring into space.

Gibbs leaned forward. "I'll ask again. Something wrong, DiNozzo?"

_More forceful this time._ That was the Gibbs Tony knew. That was the Gibbs that wasn't going to let this go. _Oh well... no time like the present,_ he surmised. "Found this..." Tony sighed, fished in his jacket pocket and handed the folded piece of paper to Gibbs, "... in the Boone file... misfiled."

"You read it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, taking the folded promotion assessment form from Tony and placing it securely in his desk drawer.

Tony grimaced. He couldn't lie. Gibbs would know. "Yeah... I did."

"What d'ya think?"

"I..." He stopped... realisation slapping him square in the face. He should have caught that sooner. _What is wrong with you, Anthony? You idiot! Gibbs taught you better than that. _He thought he saw the hint of a smile sweep across his mentor's face. _Bastard._ Gibbs knew what that piece of paper was without even looking at it. He also knew that Tony had just mentally head slapped himself. A tiny ripple of a laugh escaped as Tony shook his head. Capturing Gibbs's eyes with his own he answered, "I thought it was a fair assessment, Boss."

"Would you have said anything different?"

"No," Tony replied firmly and honestly.

Gibbs nodded. "Good."

Gibbs eyes widened during the short silence and Tony thought he saw the hint of something akin to genuine respect seep through the bright blue rings. Tony waited whilst his boss angled his head to the right, scratched his chin and then dropped eye contact with him. Gibbs began to boot up his computer and hinted, not unkindly, "You've got some time until we re-interview Webb. Might want to use it wisely, Tony."

And that was his cue to leave - simple.

Were they good now? Was he still in Gibbs's bad books? _Making progress_, seemed an appropriate assessment of the situation... if the use of his first name was anything to go by.

As he walked slowly back to his desk and his waiting closed case files, Tony felt oddly pleased with himself - although he wasn't quite sure why. Something had happened during that conversation. He'd done something good in Gibbs's eyes, but he couldn't place exactly what that was.

At least he'd been honest with his Boss; that had to count for something. The last thing he wanted to do was lie to Gibbs.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N** - Three more chapters to go.

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 5 - Parallels.**

"_That is not Italian!"_

_SA3 heard the protestation from where he stood halfway down the queue in the food hall. Some guy at the front was having a go at the poor woman behind the counter. He just wished it would end soon. The Boss had told him to go grab them some lunch 'none of that junk crap' and 'be back in ten or else' and he didn't want to annoy the Boss further; his hair was already starting to thin at the back of his head where the Boss generally whacked him. Making a decision, SA3 stepped out of the queue and started towards the man at the front._

"_Sir, it's Insalate Caprese. Italian."_

"_Processed cheese, a sliced tomato and three strips of lettuce is not Insalata Caprese."_

"_Nope. That would be Mozzarella, plum tomatoes, basil, pinch of salt, black pepper and a generous drizzle of extra virgin olive oil," SA3 interjected, catching the attention of the fuming woman. "He'll have the chicken and pasta salad. Wait... make that three."_

"_Four. Hey!"_

_SA3 offered a hand. "SA3466996."_

"_Monteleone," the slightly annoyed man replied, simultaneously casting an eye up and down SA3's frame and shaking his hand._

_The awkward handshake was rudely interrupted by the rough shove from a body and an impatient cry. "Make a hole. Chicken and pasta salad. Two please."_

"_DiNozzo?"_

_The man who had barged through them spun around knocking SA3's arm in the process. "Monteleone?"_

"_Hey!" SA3 hissed. "Watch the suit." SA3's hackles immediately rose as he took in the glare that the stranger gave him. He hated conferences. Thankfully the glare the other man wore was quickly replaced by surprise and admiration._

"_Nice tie, Armani?"_

"_Is there any other?" SA3 replied sarcastically and then feeling slightly awkward at his scathing tone, introduced himself. "SA3466996. I take it you two know each other." _

"_We worked a case together a while back," Monteleone stated proudly._

"_Yeah..." DiNozzo pondered, recalling some distant memory, "that was just plain... weird... Cheney and Gibbs... in the same room... together. Sorry..." Tony shrugged apologetically and shook SA3's hand. "DiNozzo."_

"_Now that we all know each other, how 'bout we get out of here." Monteleone huffed, "I hate conferences."_

"_Sorry, I... Gibbs..." DiNozzo gestured towards the queue for liquid refreshments. "I gotta get back." _

"_I know where we can get some stress Sigs," Monteleone teased, raising his eyebrows. _

"_Ambidextrous grip, safety catch." SA3's eyes lit up and then burned low as he sighed. "I've already seen them. You guys go."_

_Monteleone pressed the two killjoys further. "Hey, come on. Five minutes won't hurt. Seriously, Gibbs can't be that bad... "_

"_Trust me, if I'm not back like..." DiNozzo tapped his watch, "ten minutes ago..."_

"_Sounds like the Boss," SA3 sympathised._

"_You haven't met Gibbs," Tony grimaced, and ran a hand through his hair. "Has these... rules... and other stuff."_

"_Other stuff..." SA3 winced. "You haven't met the Boss." _

"_Gibbs... the Boss," Monteleone replied nonchalantly, "the way you're talking, anyone would think you're afraid of them or something."_

"_Hey, I'm not afraid of..." DiNozzo and SA3 answered in unison, both giving Monteleone a hard senior field agent stare. _

_Monteleone smirked. "Guys, DiNozzo, SA3466996... come on. We can eat on the way. You guys need some stress relief." Monteleone raised an eyebrow and beckoned for the two men to lean in closer as he whispered, "The sort you can only get from a rubbery, foam-filled, Sig Sauer with ambidextrous grip and built in safety catch."_

_DiNozzo thought for a brief moment. "That is one of the most incredibly stupid and childish suggestions to come out of a law enforcement officer's mouth. Guns are not toys," he replied in a deadly serious tone. "I'm in."_

"_Me too."_

_The three LEOs grabbed the six chicken and pasta salads between them and hurried off in the direction of the exhibition hall in search of the Sig Sauer stand to grab their 'gear'._

_TBC..._

_

* * *

_


	8. Sunday, 14:51 EST

**A/N** - Big thanks to CSIGeekFan, Obsessed Pam and Will for flushing out my Briticisms and spotting all my grammatical errors. Also, a huge thanks again to everyone who has been reading, left comments or PM'd me on this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 8 – Sunday, 14:51 EST**

**

* * *

**

As Tony clicked the print button on his computer, sending his final SWOT analysis report to be immortalised in black ink, he breathed a satisfying sigh of relief. _Two hours to spare_.

He'd worked solidly throughout the day, hardly saying two words to anyone. Not that there was really anyone to say two words to. His boss was definitely not in the mood for talking, and if he was honest, neither was he, having already waged several battles with his own thoughts. So, with an impending deadline looming, Tony had pushed his thoughts aside, kept his head down, his mouth shut and had worked quickly and efficiently without distraction. As he well knew, and had overheard Gibbs confirm on a couple of occasions, he did his best work without an audience. _No one to tease... or impress._ Tony chuckled lightly - all thoughts of trying to _impress_ Gibbs had gone out of the window on the way to Quantico the previous day. It had been a case of 'get the job done, Anthony, and survive.'

It took a lot to impress Gibbs. Correction, it took a lot for _Tony_ to impress Gibbs. Well it certainly seemed that way to the senior field agent. Still, he could live with the occasional smile or a '_Not bad, DiNozzo'_. The small snippets of recognition weren't as visible or as frequent as those he'd got from other people, but coming from Gibbs they weren't platitudes; he knew he'd earned them. To Tony, a snippet of respect from Gibbs was worth a hell of a lot more than empty compliments from people who had to be seen to be ticking boxes. Gibbs praised Tony like he drank his coffee - without sugar.

Tony picked the printed sheets from off the printer, quickly scanned through them and shuffled them into a neat pile before clipping them together and securing them in one of the spare blue NCIS report folders on his desk. As he gathered up the remaining SWOT analysis reports from the closed case files, he wondered how Gibbs was going to play the interview with Matt Webb.

"Any thoughts, Boss?" Tony enquired, as he approached Gibbs's desk and held out the remaining reports, "On what Webb knows?"

"Some." Gibbs took the files from Tony. "These the rest of them?"

"Yeah."

Gibbs nodded appreciatively and smiled, "You should get an early start on those cold cases then. Zero nine hundred tomorrow, DiNozzo."

It might have sounded like a gruff response but the smile his Boss sported conveyed the words that Gibbs couldn't and found so difficult to say and Tony knew he'd done a good job. As he turned and headed back towards his desk, a brief smile flicked across his face.

"These had better be thorough," his Boss called out after him.

"Since when have you expected anything less than thorough, Boss?" Tony retorted, his smile widening an inch into a grin.

Feeling more than a little pleased that he'd kept one deadline at least, and that maybe he could do this and he wasn't actually going to let his Boss down, Tony set to work on the box of cold case files Gibbs had left on his desk on Saturday morning. He would not let Gibbs down. More importantly, he wouldn't let himself down.

Tony had just opened his second cold case file when Gibbs's phone rang. Glancing over towards the team leader, he watched as Gibbs slowly licked his lips. That was never usually a good sign. Gibbs mumbled something inaudible into the handset and replaced it with more force than was necessary.

"DiNozzo, with me," Gibbs barked.

"Webb?"

"Uh huh."

"You want me to observe or double head the int...er...?" The raised eyebrow from Gibbs had him reaffirming the senior agent's earlier instructions almost immediately. "With you... got it, Boss."

Tony just had time to grab the thin background files on Lucas Reynolds and Matt Webb, sprint and squeeze himself through the narrowing gap in the closing doors to join Gibbs in the elevator.

Gibbs watched his senior field agent manoeuvre through the gap and into the elevator. As he hit the button he turned to look at DiNozzo. The guy stood tall, looking up at the indicator lights above the doors; his arms hugging the files on Reynolds and Webb tightly to his chest. Gibbs was glad Tony had the sense not to look at him whilst he was being read, but he knew that Tony knew he was reading him. Tony was trying to school his body language but his grip tightened on the files he held and his knuckles blanched.

As the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened, Gibbs led the way out of the small box and down the corridor to the interrogation room. After stopping to check in with the duty technicians, Gibbs took a moment to observe Webb from the covert shelter of the observation room.

Webb was holding it together quite well. The young man was fairly calm... calm for someone who'd found his roommate dead less than forty eight hours ago... although, in the five minutes Gibbs had been watching him, he had glanced at the security guard twice. Webb knew more than he'd told them back at the base. He'd known about the bruises on Reynolds; had to have seen them. There were three questions Gibbs wanted Webb to answer.

Who had beaten Reynolds?

Why had Webb not mentioned anything back at the base?

And, what else was Webb hiding?

Backing away from the window, he heard Tony sidestep out of his way. As he gripped the door handle, he turned to face the agent. "You with me, DiNozzo?"

"Sure, Gibbs, I'm with you."

Gibbs looked at his senior field agent for a brief moment before he smiled and nodded. Tony handed him the files on Lucas Reynolds and Matt Webb.

Webb stood up as soon as the two NCIS agents entered interrogation.

Gibbs announced himself and DiNozzo to the young man, dismissed the security guard and set himself down on the chair opposite from Webb. DiNozzo elected to lean against the wall to his right.

"Sit."

The order, from DiNozzo, had the desired effect and Webb obeyed, sitting back down on the plastic chair immediately.

Gibbs let the young lad stew for a minute under his hot piercing stare. Webb was openly fretting now; his eyes fleeting from him, to DiNozzo and back to him again. Tony had noticed too.

"Lucas Reynolds," Gibbs stated, "why did you dress him?"

"I told you. I didn't want him to be found like that."

"Naked?"

"Yeah. Well... no, not completely. I mean, he wasn't totally naked. I just put his shirt and shoes on."

"Before alerting Sergeant Alvarez?"

"Yes."

"Before alerting Colonel Watson?"

"Yes."

Gibbs nodded and looked at Tony.

"Seems reasonable, don't you think, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Very reasonable, Agent Gibbs. I mean, if I found a near naked, dead person hanging from a noose in my room, the first thing I'd do would be to dress them. Of course, I wouldn't have chosen khaki; the suit would be have to be Armani and don't get me started on the shoes. Gotta make sure they look presentable for the Paparazzi. You?"

"Sears." Gibbs sighed and closed the file. "I think we're done here."

The puzzled expression on Webb's face told Gibbs he had him exactly where he wanted him. Gibbs scraped his chair back from the table slightly and made as if to leave but purposely hesitated. "Just one more question, Mr Webb. Where's the belt?"

"What belt?"

"The belt that you used to hit Lucas Reynolds with... the one you used before you killed him, dressed him, tied a noose around his neck... made it look like he'd hung himself."

"I... I... Lucas was dead when I found him. He was dead. I swear, he was just... he was just hanging. I didn't. Whoa... I didn't _kill_ him! I didn't _hit_ him! That wasn't me."

"Who?"

"I don't know. Reynolds... Lucas didn't..."

"But you knew that Reynolds was being beaten." It was a statement rather than a question. "You did nothing."

The young man looked away and Gibbs saw the tension set in the young man's jaw. "Hey!" Gibbs leaned forward slamming a hand down on the table.

Gibbs watched Webb intently as he heard the soft sound of his senior field agent calmly uncrossing his feet and pushing himself away from the wall. Tony had shoved his hands in his pockets and moved a step closer to the table; the relaxed expression on his agent's face was classic 'bottom line' DiNozzo.

"Listen, Webb. I really think you want to tell my Boss, here, everything that you know. You see... he has this thing... about following orders. You want to be a Marine, right?"

Gibbs noticed Tony hadn't waited for an answer.

"Well here's the thing. Marines follow orders. Give orders too. If you want to make it as an officer and give orders, you're going to have to be able to follow them. Can't really get around that. It's not about blind faith. It's about trust. As an officer, you need to trust the decisions you make, and the orders you give. If you don't, you'll lose the trust of the Marines you command, and they won't follow your orders. They'll spot it. You need to spot it so you don't let it happen. Learning to follow orders is the first step in a long journey towards your goal. So, when 'Gunny' here asks if you know who hit Reynolds, you might want to answer him. Don't lie. He'll know. Trust me."

Gibbs estimated seven seconds. He was never wrong. _Three, two, one..._

"He told me, when I saw the bruises. I asked him. But he didn't say who."

DiNozzo shook his head and moved away from the table. "I did tell him not to lie to you, Boss."

"I know. Guess he did it."

Webb shifted nervously.

"Yep, definitely implicated."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows. "Oh he's implicated all right," he stated, mentally counting down in his head once again. _Three, two, one..._

"It wasn't me. Look, I liked Reynolds. I'd never hit him. Sure, when I met him at the induction I thought he was an arrogant SOB. I didn't really know why he was there; he didn't want to be there, didn't seem to get with the whole programme at all at first." Webb paused and glanced briefly at DiNozzo before he regained composure and continued to address Gibbs. "I guess sharing a room, being stuck with someone 24/7... well, I got to know him. We looked out for each other. He got with the programme and well... you don't always hit it off straight away with some people. But we were fine. When I saw the bruises, he told me if I said anything he'd..."

"Reynolds is dead, Webb." DiNozzo stated.

Gibbs had had enough of pussyfooting around. "WHO!" he roared.

"His dad."

"Well that's really interesting, Matt." Tony ran a hand across his chin. "You see, James Reynolds died in a car accident eight years ago. According to the medical report, the injuries that caused the bruising and scarring on Lucas Reynolds' body were inflicted over a period of time... from less than a week ago to no more than seven years ago. James Reynolds didn't hit his son."

Webb turned to look at DiNozzo. "No, not his father, his dad. Step dad? Well he called him dad. His mom's boyfriend. I don't think they got married. Whatever, I think they'd been together for a while. He's a Marine," Webb stated, turning his attention back to Gibbs. "He covered it well. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen the bruises but... well, it happens. I thought one of the instructors maybe, or someone else on the course. A couple of them would gladly have beaten the crap out of him if they'd had the chance. Coates _did_, in close combat."

Gibbs angled his head, urging Webb to elaborate.

"Jason Coates, another of the recruits... but no, Lucas told me. His dad hit him." Webb paused, "Lucas... he was only 12 when... this was his chance to get away."

_He certainly did that_, Gibbs thought. "Name."

"Steven Porter."

"DiNozzo."

"On it."

Gibbs waited for his senior field agent to leave the interrogation room and then focused all his attention back to Matt Webb.

* * *

Back in the squad room, Tony had pulled Staff Sergeant Steven Porter's records, noted the salient points; completed a general background check on the marine, and contacted Porter's CO.

Tony saw the audio tape from Webb's interview hurtling through the air towards him as Gibbs entered the squad room. Catching the tape with one hand and clicking the remote with the other, Tony gestured to the plasma. As the screen lit up, revealing a picture of a man in his early forties with close cropped dark brown hair and hazel eyes, Gibbs took a pace towards the monitor and Tony stepped up to stand beside him.

"Staff Sergeant Steven Porter. Spoke to his CO who described Porter as a 'model Marine'," Tony glanced at Gibbs briefly before returning his attention to the plasma. "Returned from leave two days ago, currently on a 48 hour escape and evade exercise. Not quite sure where he is. They're currently trying to track him down. CO said he could definitely have him here midday Tuesday but..."

"First thing tomorrow, DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped impatiently.

"So little faith, Boss," he said as Gibbs turned and headed for his desk. "I expressed NCIS's displeasure at the Marine Corp's slow response time," he quipped and smirked simultaneously. "He'll be here by zero nine hundred."

Gibbs smiled as he sat down at his desk and called out gruffly, "Cold cases, DiNozzo."

"Right, Boss." Tony walked back to his desk, grinning.

"And..."

Without looking back at Gibbs, Tony smiled and held aloft the audio tape. "Getting it transcribed now, Boss."

TBC...

* * *

**A/N -** Well, only two more chapters to go. Chapter 9 up next weekend. In the meantime, suspend your disbelief...

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 6 – Collision.**

"_DiNozzo! SA3! Monteleone!" Gibbs, the Boss and Cheney roared at their respective subordinates._

_DiNozzo had just double tapped SA3 who was gloating from having taken out Monteleone who had just pistol whipped DiNozzo with his foam filled stress Sig, much to the amusement of a small crowd of onlookers in the exhibition hall. _

_The two wayward agents, one senior detective and small crowd of onlookers stopped dead in their tracks. The collective gulp that ensued was almost enough to rival the background chatter in the hall. The contents of six chicken and pasta salads lay strewn across the floor all around them._

_DiNozzo, SA3 and Monteleone paled as their respective bosses circled behind them. They were trapped. An ill-disciplined inner circle bounded by an outraged outer layer. _

_Gibbs leaned in close behind SA3. "You want me to handle this, Ribbs." _

_The Boss glared at Gibbs. "No, Agent Gibbs. My agent, my problem." _

"_Cheney." _

"_Same here," Cheney responded, moving to stand behind his senior detective._

_SA3 was stunned. The guy known as Gibbs had moved to his right to stand behind DiNozzo. His presence behind him a few moments earlier had sent spine tingling chills through to his very core. Chills every bit as powerful, more so even, as those he generally experienced when his own Boss made the same manoeuvre. But what had stunned him most was that Gibbs had called his Boss Ribbs. Ribbs. No one knew the Boss's name. Not even him. Well no one had known, until now._

_DiNozzo eyes narrowed and rolled to the left. He was obviously trying, without much luck, to see what Gibbs was doing behind him. The pained expression he wore led SA3 to believe DiNozzo knew what would happen if he even thought about moving an inch. He hadn't been kidding before about Gibbs and his 'other stuff'. Monteleone, on the other hand, shot SA3 a small shrug of his shoulders, resigned to his fate._

"_I think we all know how to handle this," the Boss seethed eyeing both Gibbs and Cheney. "On three?" He waited for the affirmative nods from the two leaders. _

"_One," the Boss began._

"_Two," Cheney continued._

_TBC..._

_

* * *

_


	9. Sunday, 20:13 EST

**A/N - **A little later than usual. Sorry about that. Thanks guys.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 9 – Sunday, 20:13 EST**

* * *

Vanessa Reynolds, Lucas's mother had arrived. She had insisted on seeing her son and they'd taken her to see his body. She had remained stoic, simply looking down at the lifeless face of her son when Gibbs folded back the covering sheet. She hadn't wanted to touch or caress him; there were no tears, no outpouring of emotions.

Back in the conference room, Vanessa Reynolds had listened as Gibbs confirmed again what she had already been told by Agent Rosario; how Lucas had been found the previous day and that there had been no doubt that he had taken his own life. Gibbs had asked if Vanessa had known why her son might have done it. He had prompted her, encouraged her to talk about the boy's father and her current partner, Steven Porter. How had Lucas been when his father had died? How had she met Porter? How had Porter been with Lucas? Had they done things together? Had she noticed any changes in her son's, or Porter's, behaviour recently?

Gibbs mentioned the bruising and revealed what Webb had told them earlier that afternoon.

At first, Vanessa didn't seem to know what to say and she didn't seem to react at all. Then she denied it. Tony showed her some of the pictures Ducky had taken. She got angry, thumped the table and told them it couldn't possibly be Steven. She would have known. It couldn't have been him. He wasn't like that. He was a good man. He looked after his own. Overwhelmed and exhausted, Vanessa fell into a long silence.

Glancing at Gibbs, Tony stood up and poured Mrs Reynolds a glass of water. Two versus one wasn't helping, and with a brief nod from Gibbs, he placed the glass in front of her and left the room. As the door closed, Vanessa took a small sip from the glass. Unable to meet Gibbs's eyes, she slowly pushed the sleeve of her sweater back to reveal five purple sinister looking bruises on her forearm.

* * *

As Vanessa had started to develop a rapport with Gibbs, and realising that three was a crowd, Tony had returned to the squad room to follow up his actions from the interview with Webb. He was only making it worse in the conference room, and it would be easier for Vanessa to talk to Gibbs one-on-one. Especially as he didn't think Lucas had been the sole recipient of Porter's beatings. Vanessa was the classic, clichéd, battered wife that he'd seen too many times in his law enforcement career. _Bastard. _

The audio of the interview with Webb had been sent off to be transcribed. They were satisfied that Matt Webb had played no part in Lucas Reynolds suicide other than dressing him but they still needed to talk to Steven Porter. He could very possibly be the reason that Lucas Reynolds took his own life. Tony booked an interrogation room for the morning and ordered the technical support. After they interviewed Porter in the morning, the Domestic Violence Unit would definitely want to talk to him, and Vanessa, if his suspicions were correct.

Since his preliminary report was on his team leader's desk awaiting sign off, he'd begun to work on the pile of cold cases he still had. A noise from the corner of the squad room had him craning his neck to find Gibbs walking towards him with Vanessa Reynolds in tow.

"Agent DiNozzo will take you to see Agent Walker now."

"Would you like to come with me, please," he nodded to Gibbs, his suspicions confirmed, and gestured for Mrs Reynolds to walk with him.

Twenty minutes later, Tony introduced Vanessa to Agent Dee Walker from the Domestic Violence Unit. At first, Mrs Reynolds had been reluctant to go with her, but some gentle persuasion was all that had been needed. She was ready to talk and she wanted to make a statement.

Tony made his way back to the elevator and pressed the call button. The familiar ping permeated the area and the doors opened to reveal Gibbs leaning against the right hand panel, holding a cup of coffee. Tony hesitated before entering the elevator, taking the left hand space and then turning to stare at the doors as they began to close.

The elevator began to move gently upwards towards the second floor.

Gibbs already knew the answer, but he had to ask him head on. "Your father ever hit you Tony?"

Tony looked away and Gibbs could see the tension grip his senior field agent. He'd take that as a 'yes'. "Your father hit you often?"

An enduring silence ensued before Tony spoke. "No more than you do now, Boss."

Gibbs swallowed hard. "Tony..." he sighed.

"Boss... don't."

The elevator doors opened.

Both men stood motionless trapped by the awkwardness of the moment. Then the doors began to close. Gibbs' hand shot out stopping them fast. They obeyed, sliding open once again and Gibbs held them there. He glanced at Tony to find the agent quickly shifting his gaze from the hand Gibbs had on the elevator doors to the eyes that Gibbs now had trained on him. Softening his expression, Gibbs jerked his head in the direction of the squad room. Tony obliged and walked out of the elevator back towards his desk. Gibbs sighed and pursed his lips, waiting until Tony was seated before letting the elevator doors close. He punched the button for the basement.

* * *

Taking a folder from the stack of cold case files on his desk and opening it, Tony paused and leant back in his chair. Running a hand over his brow smoothing the tension away, he was feeling oddly calmer than he had done several minutes ago. Truth be told, Tony was glad Gibbs had asked him. Many people had asked him that same question. Gibbs never had, until five minutes ago. Somehow, he'd always assumed and thought that Gibbs knew anyway. He probably did. A lot of information passed between them without having actually been said out loud. Gibbs probably just wanted to hear him say it.

In the past, when other people had asked him that very question, he'd answered truthfully. It hadn't been worth it. From then on he'd lied or come up with a plausible explanation, until finally he'd not answered; not even bothered telling. With Gibbs it was different. It mattered that he told him the truth. It mattered that he_ told_ him. It mattered to Gibbs, and it mattered to himself. Sure, being hit by his father wasn't something Tony wanted to shout from the roof of the Navy yard and he certainly didn't want or expect pity. He wasn't the only person who'd been hit in their youth. Hell, he'd deserved some of them... not all, but some definitely.

He deserved some of Gibbs's slaps too... not all, but some. There was a difference though. In fact it was completely different. Gibbs was his Boss, not his father. How many Bosses slapped their employees on the back of the head, especially in this day and age? They'd be up on assault charges within the hour. Abby had said they made him feel wanted. Maybe she was right. He didn't particularly like it, but it was what Gibbs did. A little physical contact to the back of his head every now and then grounded him; brought him back on track, made him fight and had stopped him from running on more than one occasion. Gibbs wasn't out to hurt him as such; the guy just seemed to know what he needed... wanted even. That was the difference, and that was why he'd never reported it... well, that and the fact that he'd probably end up working in records for the next twenty years if he even attempted to report it. It would never get that far though, because_ he_ knew, and Gibbs knew, that if _he_ ever wanted it to stop, all he needed to do would be to face Gibbs one to one and tell him not to do it.

_Or you could stop 'blanking up' Anthony_, he berated. Tony sighed. He couldn't see that happening any time soon. Besides, he trusted Gibbs... Gibbs was a man of his word. Three words in particular.

Honour. Courage. Commitment.

Three words. Three values. Values that Tony had slowly been trying to prove he had too. So when Gibbs had asked the question of him in that elevator, he hadn't lied. He'd drawn strength and opened up a part of him that he'd rather have left well alone. Maybe the answer hadn't been a simple 'Yes' or 'No' but damn it, he hadn't lied. He owed Gibbs that much.

* * *

The single lamp on Ducky's desk lit autopsy and shadows danced across the walls as Gibbs slowly paced the room. Ducky wasn't around but his single malt was; the specially selected Lagavulin hitting the spot just as effectively as his preferred Bourbon. Pouring a shot into the freshly brewed coffee, Gibbs found the silence of autopsy comforting - like the smell of sawdust in his basement.

So, it hadn't been a picnic for Tony back then. He could imagine Tony being one hell of a stubborn kid, probably driving anyone who came into contact with him completely up the wall; he hardly made it easy for himself now. But he knew DiNozzo. This went far beyond a father giving his errant son a few slaps across the backs of his legs when he was a child. Tony had said very little, but had revealed a lot. Both Gibbs and Tony knew that when Tony exaggerated, Gibbs needn't worry; it was when he understated or tried to cover, that Gibbs should dig. Tony had never mentioned anything about his father hitting him before and Gibbs had assumed, from what little DiNozzo had revealed in the past, and the way the guy craved attention, that whatever problems Tony and his father had stemmed from emotional neglect rather than actual physical abuse at the hands of his father. Perhaps it was both.

The question was, what to do now?

He wouldn't and didn't feel guilty at having ridden his senior field agent hard over the weekend. He'd intended on keeping DiNozzo physically at his desk for as long as he possibly could, emphasising just how pissed he'd been that Tony had thought it was acceptable to go AWOL after he, McGee... and Abby... had spent the best part of a day worrying about, and trying to locate him, Ziva and that blasted shipping container. Tony had scared him; the way he'd just upped and left like that - without a word to anyone.

It hadn't been one of Gibbs's better decisions, joining Ziva and the others in taunting Tony the other evening. Any other time and Tony would probably have given as good as he got, but Tony had been injured and they had all been coming down from an adrenalin high that night. His reaction had been unexpected.

DiNozzo had needed reassurance that running was not the answer. Tony needed to know that he had a place on Gibbs's team as long as he wanted; that Gibbs relied on DiNozzo and DiNozzo could rely on him. Gibbs wanted to test and assess Tony's resolve, and so far the senior field agent had done pretty well.

He hadn't caved. He hadn't run. He'd stayed.

The fact that he'd yelled at Tony, dished out orders, ignored him, even thrown his food in the trash and the guy had taken it, pleased him. Gibbs knew how to work his senior field agent and Tony had responded true to form. _Ah... heck_. He'd expected a few complaints, some moaning at least, but apart from a brief whine at the crime scene over in Quantico there hadn't been much else. DiNozzo... Tony... had remained professional throughout the weekend, throughout the case, and throughout Gibbs's bastard routine. He'd not let anything affect his work and although the senior field agent had been a little more quiet than usual, the banter had returned. Tony would have no problems with psych. He might even be ready.

Their little conversation in the elevator had, however, thrown Gibbs somewhat.

_What the hell do I do, Ducky?_ he thought, as he sidled over to and perched himself on the edge of the M.E.'s desk. _Do I talk to the guy? Do I wait for him to talk to me?_

'_Jethro. You can't... he won't thank you.' _Ducky's words echoed in his mind and seemingly around Autopsy. They had a whole different meaning. _What, so I just carry on slapping the back of his head whenever his attention slips._ He couldn't do that. Could he?

If Tony didn't want Gibbs to slap him, all he needed to do was come to him and ask him to stop. He would. He had no problem with that. After all, there were lots of other ways to incentivise the guy. He thought Tony knew that. He might be Tony's Boss, he might ride his ass when he needed it, but Tony could count on him, couldn't he? _Damn it, Tony! Why didn't you tell me before?_

Was he really that much of a bastard that Tony couldn't come to him?

'_You didn't treat Stanley like this on his weekend.'_ Ducky's words echoed in his head until the memory of a conversation he'd had with Tony floated to the fore of his mind. Gibbs licked his lips and closing his eyes briefly, he let out a sigh.

He'd listened, but he hadn't registered its significance until now. Tony _had _asked him to stop before. He'd said he'd _wished_ Gibbs would stop hitting him, but he hadn't taken much notice of it at the time. He'd been pissed that Tony had preferred to offer a snippet of humour to the rest of the team instead of concentrating fully on the task in hand. He'd rapped him over the head and Tony had just blurted it out. He'd thought it was a quick retort from his senior field agent, to save face. He didn't think Tony had meant it, and he'd never complained before. In any case, it was _his_ management style. It had worked – with Tony, at least.

He made up his mind. He would stop doing it.

'_Jethro. You can't... he won't thank you.'_

Could he afford not to continue though? If he suddenly stopped, the rest of the team would notice. They'd want to know why. Tony would want to know why too. He was Tony's mentor. He was also the team leader, not Tony, and that meant he had a responsibility to Tony... to all his agents. Gibbs had a sudden compulsion to head straight for the squad room, grab his senior field agent and slap him for putting him in this position. Cursing Tony under his breath, he knew the decision he had to make should be easy but it wasn't.

_Was it really his decision to make?_ Gibbs pondered. This had to be Tony's choice, not his, and maybe it was time for Tony to step up to the plate. He should talk to him, tonight, before the rest of the team came back on duty tomorrow.

No. That was not what Tony needed. He didn't need orders and he didn't need offers of help.

No, what Tony needed, was to be alone right now. The worst thing he could do would be to question, interrogate or confront him further about this. Tony had already made that perfectly clear in the elevator. There were times when an offer of help could have just as detrimental an effect as a cold and uncompromising order. Times too when help or orders could be constructive, but this wasn't one of those times and Gibbs had plenty of experience of both giving and receiving orders and offers of help. Tony needed to be alone in his work at this moment, and Gibbs would allow him that. Perhaps, right now, reviewing cold cases was exactly what Tony needed. He could still help Tony in another way though.

Gibbs checked his pocket, wallet... check, keys... check, coffee... check and slurp. _Coffee with a kick. Not bad, Ducky._

* * *

It had gone 10pm and Tony was busily working his way through the batch of cold cases when he heard the pronounced ping of the elevator and looked up from his dimly lit desk. Surprised by the identity of the man who exited, he wondered what had happened to Gibbs.

"For you, Agent DiNozzo," the night security guard said handing him a pizza box and a bottle of soda.

"Any note?"

"Nope. You didn't order it?" the guard asked.

"Nope. But I'll take it though. How much?"

"Nothing. Delivery guy said it was all paid for," the guard said as Tony opened the box and sniffed. "You really gonna eat that? You don't even know who sent it."

Tony smiled. "More than my life's worth not to," he said, savouring the aroma of a sausage and pepperoni pizza... with extra cheese.

"Well I warned you," the security guard replied, watching as Tony took a huge bite out of one of the larger slices. He shrugged his shoulders and headed for the elevator.

Raising a half eaten slice of freshly baked Pizza in the direction of Gibbs's desk, and wondering how on earth his boss had managed to get one delivered on a Sunday evening, Tony chewed, swallowed and resisted the urge to stuff the rest of the pizza slice into his mouth just in time to get three little words out, "Thank you, Boss."

TBC...

* * *

**A/N** - Well, hope you liked it. Final chapter will be next posted next Sunday. Thanks for reading and for all your comments.

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 7 - Naming convention.**

_DiNozzo, SA3 and Monteleone screwed their eyes tightly shut in anticipation of the inevitable head slap. When it didn't happen, they each gingerly opened their eyes relaxing somewhat._

"_Three," Gibbs finished._

'_Whack!' _

'_Whack!' _

'_Whack!'_

_All three men found their heads pushed forward from the force and each felt the smart as their respective boss's hand made its presence known. They all raised a hand, instinctively to the backs of their heads._

_The small crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed as the three angry leaders faced them. When they turned back DiNozzo and Monteleone were both rubbing the backs of their heads. SA3 was eyeing Ribbs with amusement._

"_Ribs? Like the boat, Boss," SA3 grinned, rubbing the back of his head. Picking up on Monteleone's confused state SA3 explained. "Rigid Inflatable Boat. We use 'em occasionally. You must have seen the models back at the entrance." Monteleone shook his head. _

"_Nope. Not like the boat," the Boss rebuked, fixing SA3 with a glare._

"_Let me guess," DiNozzo sighed. "Two 'b's."_

"_Uh huh," the Boss responded._

"_And the second one is for..." _

"_Bastard," Gibbs interrupted before his own senior field agent could finish. _

"_I can't believe you've got a name, Boss." SA3 stated, somewhat bewildered. "All these years and I didn't know your name. You could have told me," he smiled. "I mean, it's not like I would even think of ribbing you about it. Why so cagey, Boss? _

'_Whack!'_

"_Keep it up SA3 and I'll arrange a little ribbing session in the gym."_

* * *

_At the side of the exhibition hall, two detectives stood watching in disbelief as the events unfolded before them. They observed silently as three irate bosses lectured their subordinates on the possible consequences of their extremely poor judgement and shook their heads as the three errant charges were each ordered to pick up every last piece of the six chicken and pasta salads that had been scattered all over the exhibition hall floor._

"_Shut it Montanelli," Craney warned his senior detective._

"_Wasn't gonna say a thing, Boss," the detective exclaimed holding both hands up. "Niente."_

_TBC..._

_

* * *

_

**A/N** - Sorry, I couldn't resist. After that explanation on the show of GIB (Guy in back) not to be confused with Gibbs (2 'b's), I had to come up with a parallel set up explanation for Ribbs. (Couldn't go for Tibbs btw - that Mr Gemcity's creation).

* * *


	10. Monday, 05:52 EST

**A/N** - Huge thanks once more to three fabulous people, CSIGeekFan, Obsessed Pam and Will.

**Weekend Duty**

**Chapter 10 – Monday, 05:52 EST**

**

* * *

**

The sight of his senior field agent asleep at his desk usually had Gibbs doing one of three things: slamming a hand down on DiNozzo's desk, barely an inch from the man's head; giving the front of Tony's desk a hard kick with his foot, jolting the man awake; or, as he was sorely tempted to do at this moment, giving the invitingly exposed snooze button a swift hard swipe. Gibbs, however, elected to do none of those things right away, opting instead to let the man sleep a few extra minutes. Settling himself down at his desk and booting up his computer, Gibbs glanced at Tony. He looked older and haggard and, to be perfectly honest, a few extra minutes sleep wouldn't hurt; he obviously hadn't had much over the weekend and he'd be awake soon enough. Gibbs busied himself with sorting through the stack of unread e-mails that had just appeared in his Inbox.

* * *

_His ribs jarred with each and every heavy stride, sending a jolt of pain cursing throughout his frame. He tried taking shallow breaths as he ran but it was damn near impossible so he just got on with it, sucked it up and ran. It was bearable... just. The first day back after the holidays and, trust Murphy's law, they'd landed double PT at the end of the day. After a lengthy warm up, Coach had split them into three groups and they had alternated between general PT, bean bag sprint races and running. Group 2, his group, were currently running laps around the track and the fact that he was uncharacteristically slow hadn't gone unnoticed by Coach, or some of the other boys, one boy in particular._

_Scaini hung back, waiting for Tony to catch up with him. "What's up, Nozzo? Too many eight course meals at Daddy's last week. You'll never make the team running half-assed. Face it, you're losing it... but then that's just you, isn't it... one... big... fat... loser. Maybe you've already lost it." Scaini slowed to a standstill, a smirk appearing on his young face as he openly goaded Tony, "What did happen to your mother?"_

_That drew a reaction and the pain left Tony as the adrenaline surged forth. Tony spun around and the two teenagers squared up to each other. "Why don't you just go f..." _

"_Hey! Cut it out!" Coach yelled from a distance, just in time to stop the boys trading punches. He was in their faces, however, in under three seconds. "This is a new record Scaini. DiNozzo, I'm disappointed. What is wrong with you two?" he yelled. "Well?"_

_When neither boy answered, Coach let his anger show more openly as he barked out their punishments to them._

"_Scaini, five trees, NOW!"_

"_Yes Sir," the boy sighed, casting Tony a sly grin before he began to run off in the direction of the trees at the far end of the pitch. _

"_DiNozzo, three laps. GO!"_

"_How come he gets trees and I..."_

"_Wanna make it five laps, DiNozzo?!"_

"_No Sir," Tony replied and started a slow run in the opposite direction to Scaini._

"_DiNozzo!" Coach snapped. "Get a move on, I'm timing you." After making sure the two boys were suitably distanced from each other, Coach checked his watch and turned his attention to the remaining kids who'd watched the altercation and who were now standing around on the field. "The rest of you, get this stuff cleared away and hit the showers." _

_Streamlining his vision on the deckchair stripes of burnt orange and white, Tony ran, concentrating hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Left foot... then right foot... then left foot again... a safe routine. It would be difficult to try and run any other way really. Of course, there was right foot, left foot and then right foot again but he had yet to try right foot, left foot, left foot, right foot. _

'_Stupid idiot, Anthony. Why d'ya let him get to you? Scaini's a jerk,' he thought as he ran. _

_TURF. That was the intention behind Coach's 'Laps' punishment. First lap was supposed to clear his head so he could think, second lap was designed to make him understand and reassess his actions or a situation and, on the third lap he was supposed to focus on what needed to be done to put things right. It worked, for him anyway. Running did help to clear his head, and when his head was clear he could think, understand, reassess and focus. He was on lap one._

_When he'd first been on the receiving end of Coach's wrath, he'd hated laps... couldn't see the point, but after a few sessions he'd understood their value and even started running himself whenever he felt he needed to clear his head. It was cathartic. In fact, he didn't consider running laps a 'real' punishment - although he'd never tell Coach that. He enjoyed running; he was good at it. Unfortunately, Tony wasn't really enjoying it this time; not with his ribs screaming at him every time his feet hit the track. Trying to block out the pain, he concentrated on clearing his head. Scaini was easy to get rid of but Coach wasn't. When Coach had said he was disappointed with him, it had hit home. He was always disappointing his dad. Tony didn't want to disappoint him but he couldn't seem to do anything to stop doing just that. Tony really didn't want to disappoint Coach either. _

_Tony upped his pace._

'_Crap!' Tony cursed under his laboured breaths. Scaini was up ahead. He'd already rounded one tree at the edge of the field and was making the journey to the other sets of trees at the far end of the field. Unfortunately that meant that he and Scaini would probably end up meeting each other as he ran around the curve and Scaini crossed the track. 'Perfect,' Tony thought as his reckoning began to materialise. As Scaini approached, he saw the sneer emerge and knew it wouldn't be long before the snide taunt followed._

"_Later, Nozzo. Prick!" _

_Ignoring the bait but using the anger Scaini's comment had instilled in him, he pushed on, the sudden adrenalin surge lessening the pain. Picking up the pace considerably, Tony put his all into running as hard and as fast as he physically could; at least he would try not to disappoint Coach. He pushed all the way to the end and beyond. Arriving back after the third lap, Tony doubled over, placing his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. _

"_DiNozzo!" Coach yelled over to him, "Front and centre."_

_Wincing at the harsh tone of voice, Tony raised himself up and double timed it over to stand before Coach. Scaini had already finished five trees torture and had had a strip torn off him by Coach. Linking his hands behind his back, his breathing slightly more regulated, Tony chose his random point in the distance and fixed it with a stare while he waited for the inevitable dressing-down from his instructor._

"_Better, almost back up to your PB," Coach stated. "Now, mind telling me what's wrong?"_

_The bruising had still not fully developed but the pain was definitely full on now. Even so, there was no way he was telling anyone what was wrong. No one was ever going to know. Tony swallowed hard._

_He stood alone._

"_Nothing, Sir."_

"_Anthony!"_

"_I'm fine."_

"_Well then, if you're fine, you can go do another lap, and you'll go on doing laps until I get a satisfactory explanation for what's wrong with you today. I'll be waiting by the bench when you're ready to tell me. GO!" he yelled. "And DiNozzo!" he added as Tony ran off towards the track, "It's I'm fine, SIR!" _

* * *

The muffled pained sounds from Tony's desk had Gibbs looking up and over at his senior field agent with concern and then empathy. _Nightmare._ He'd experienced too many of those himself and seen enough in others to recognise the composite package of rapid eye movement, twitching, pained facial expression, beads of sweat and vocal murmurings.

_Time to put DiNozzo out of his misery_. Grabbing his coat, Gibbs locked his computer and started to head out for coffee; but not before pausing briefly at his Senior Field Agent's desk and giving it a hard kick. Gibbs didn't hang around as Tony woke with a start.

* * *

The elevator pinged; Tony kept his head down but one eye surreptitiously trained on the floor near the elevator. He knew that the kick to his desk could only have come from one person and for one reason only... and he wanted at least to appear on the ball now, even if he was a little sleep deprived. When Gibbs had woken him, thankfully from reliving the entirety of another nightmare, he'd grabbed a change of clothes, headed for the wash room and been back at his desk within 10 minutes. Now he was stuck waiting, albeit with the previous evening's dirt washed away and clean DiNozzo mask in place, for the inevitable awkward conversation; not about sleeping at his desk but about that exchange he'd had in the elevator the previous evening. Fortunately, for the moment, neither set of shoes belonging to the two agents that had emerged from the elevator and who were now making their way into the squad room were his Boss's. Tony looked up as McGee smiled.

"Good weekend Tony?" McGee asked.

"Let me see... well, there was a Saturday and then there was a Sunday," he replied sarcastically. "Just your typical DiNozzo weekend. What do you think?"

"Don't get too close, Ziva," McGee joked, "He's cranky; obviously didn't get his morning run."

"Actually, McGee, I had a good weekend," he lied, getting up from behind his desk and joining Ziva and McGee in the middle of the squad room. "You... Ziva?"

"Good. In fact...Tony..."

"What."

"I..." Ziva hesitated, "I followed your advice."

"Really?" Tony asked with a hint of surprise. "Well I am the 'Senior' field agent," he stated before turning towards her and adding, "Re-ally?"

"Yes, Tony. Really. You have been trying to get me to watch more movies so I decided it was time for me to rent one."

"You... wow, Ziva I... what did you go for? Wait, let me guess. Die Hard? No. The Alien box set?"

Tony spied the beginning of a smirk on Ziva's face.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's? Colder right? Okay... "

"You will never guess, Tony."

"Tell me it wasn't Sleepless in Seattle... please."

"It was not Sleepless in Seattle, Tony."

"Okay, I give up. Hit me."

As Ziva stepped closer to Tony, McGee hastily intervened, "He means tell him the name of the movie, Ziva."

"That too," Tony winked.

"Madagascar."

McGee stifled a laugh. Tony's eyes opened wide with excitement and renewed energy. "I _love_ Madagascar."

"Go figure," McGee chimed in.

"The penguins..." Tony wasn't listening, "Skipper, Kowalski, Rico and..."

"Private," McGee added.

"You have noticed the similarities too?"

"What similarities, Ziva?" Tony mocked.

"Yeah right," McGee mused. "S'pose you're Kowalski to Gibbs's Skipper, Tony."

"I thought so."

"I always fancied myself as a bit of a Rico, all those gadgets and stuff."

Tony laughed, patting McGee on his shoulder. "Aw, Tim thinks he's Rico, Ziva... Rico..."

Ziva glared at McGee. "I am Rico."

"Yeah, Rico regurgitates keys, picks locks, is a whizz with a knife and cooks for his team mates," Tony said shooting Ziva a smile. "Most of his team mates anyway." He wasn't going to let her forget that one quite so quickly.

Ziva shot him a glare and then smiled back at him.

"So, what then... I have to be the Private... I'm Private?" McGee exclaimed.

"Well if the flipper fits Private Probie."

"Kowalski! A word," Gibbs snapped as he strode into the squad room, depositing a coffee on his desk and then motioning for Tony to follow him.

"Skipper?"

Tony grimaced and began to follow Gibbs when he heard McGee cough. He paused briefly and shot a glance back at Tim and Ziva. They were both grinning.

"Don't even _think _about saying it, McGee."

"Just smile and wave Tony, smile and wave" McGee offered, with a small wave of his hand.

Tony sucked in the side of his cheek and continued to follow Gibbs into the corridor. Gibbs had stopped short of the elevator and had turned to face him now. The expression he wore demanded attention. Tony knew what this was about and it had nothing to do with an ill-timed conversation about penguins. He should never have said what he did in that damn elevator. He didn't want Gibbs's pity.

Tony stood in front of Gibbs, silently waiting for him to speak.

Gibbs looked at the man standing before him now. DiNozzo... his senior field agent... his Kowalski. He'd thought he'd known exactly what he was going to say to him but he really wasn't sure whether what he intended to do was the right thing or not.

"Tony, I don't..."

"Boss, I know what you're going to say", Tony interrupted. "Don't stop doing what you do because of..."

He slapped Tony firmly on the back of his head. DiNozzo had chosen for the both of them.

"Trying to say, DiNozzo... don't wanna repeat this... weekend. Don't need to. Need you ready to transfer Porter to DVU when he gets here, and..."

"We're not doing the interview?" Tony asked.

Gibbs licked his lips and furnished his Senior Field Agent with a determined stare. Tony really should know better than to ask. It was the Domestic Violence unit's case ever since Vanessa agreed to make a statement and although Porter had more than likely played a part in Lucas Reynolds's decision to take his own life, they would never know for sure and 'more than likely' just wouldn't cut with the JAG lawyers.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "And..." he continued, dismissing his agent's question and adopting a low and more deadly tone of voice, "if the rest of those cold case files aren't reviewed and on my desk by 09:00..."

"Gotcha Boss."

The response was swift and sincere and DiNozzo had already, in his haste, started to turn back towards his desk. Gibbs upped the deathly tone in his voice a notch. "Wait..." he stated, pausing until Tony turned back to face him, meeting his own eyes; certain that he'd got his senior field agent's complete attention. "That promotion assessment form... accidentally misfiled... that was several months ago. Not what I think now and, it's not what this one says," he smiled, producing an envelope from his inside jacket pocket. He waved it in front of Tony before batting him lightly on the forehead with it. "Still think you lack discipline though."

The briefest of smiles flickered across Tony's face and then his head dropped and he stared at the floor. Gibbs waited as Tony swallowed and then lifted his head back up, the green eyes meeting his own once more. The smile that Tony wore matched the gratitude the eyes were conveying now. Staring back at his senior field agent, Gibbs waited for the recognition of what he'd just said, including his earlier subtle threat, to hit home. A few seconds passed before the smile on Tony's face quickly disappeared to be replaced by a look of concern and worry.

Tony hesitated. "About the other day. It won't ha..."

"I know DiNozzo," Gibbs interrupted and waited as Tony nodded.

"Thanks, Boss..." Tony flashed a smile, "for the Pizza."

Licking his lips, Gibbs purposely clipped his answer, "What Pizza?"

As DiNozzo started back pedalling furiously, he allowed himself a smirk and his expression to soften as Tony caught on. It hadn't taken long, judging by the way Tony was shaking his head and biting his bottom lip.

"Nice one, Boss."

The two men stood opposite each other; Tony studying him whilst he appraised Tony. As the silence began to border on awkward Gibbs knew who would break first.

"Boss, can I?" Tony tipped his head in the direction of his desk.

"Uh huh", he nodded.

Gibbs watched Tony turn on his heels and walk quickly back to his desk, running the fingers of one hand through his hair as he went.

A brief smirk appeared at the corner of Gibbs's mouth and he chuckled to himself. He'd have those cold case files, and probably a few others too, by 09:00. DiNozzo would make sure of it.

The End.

* * *

**A/N** - SWOT analysis – Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats.

Thanks again to everyone for reading. Overall - not a comfortable read, I know. I played the control, manipulative and passive aspects to Gibbs and Tony's relationship dynamic quite hard (that was deliberate on my part). So whilst this story has a happy(ish) ending for the duo, I wanted to highlight/question whether that dynamic (if pushed) could be healthy or possibly border on being considered abusive.

**SA3 - To the LE EXPO 2009 and beyond: Part 8 - The wrath of Ribbs.**

_The Boss and SA3 had found the customary quantum mirror in the cloakroom and with a brief nod to their parallel counterparts - Gibbs, Cheney, DiNozzo and Monteleone - had placed their hands on the mirror and were now safely back in their own reality. Those 42 minutes had seemed like an eternity._

_Back from the conference, the Boss had purposely ensured SA3 was fully engrossed in a new case but he was growing increasingly suspicious of the man's lack of chatter and wondered how long it would be before SA3 spilled his guts to the rest of the team over the little matter of his last name - Ribbs. _

"_What ya got, Als?" the Boss asked as he strode into the lab and planted himself firmly at the side of his favourite forensic expert._

"_It's not fair, Bossman. He knows."_

_The Boss licked his lips. "Case, Ally," he steered firmly._

"_You know we're going out later for a bite to eat. He'll tell me. I'll get it out of him. You know I'll do it," she huffed. "So I don't know why you don't just tell me now?"_

_The Boss turned to face the inexorable Goth and fixed her with a stare._

"_No match on the prints taken from the iron piping, but I was able to extract DNA from the cells, blood and hair I found on it. The DNA profile matches that of your dead Petty Officer... Boss... Sir." _

_The Boss smirked and leant forward pecking Ally on the cheek. "Good work, Als." He was halfway out of the lab when he hesitated and turned back to face the forensic scientist. "Ally... are you going for Chinese later?"_

"_Wow, that's impressive Bossman. Yeah we are. Well... me, Zita, McColl and SA3 are; he knew you'd never go for it. He's taking us to this new place," Ally replied excitedly over the sound of the elevator pinging. "Said they did some mean spare ribs... and he's paying."_

"_Oh, he'll be paying all right," the Boss replied, as he turned and strode out of the lab heading for the elevator, neatly smacking SA3 around the back of his head as the suitably surprised senior field agent entered Ally's lair._

_His second in command faltered. "What was that for?"_

"_Playing with your food," Ribbs snapped tersely._

_The End._

* * *


End file.
